


Descended From Cain

by Deathraptor22



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Conspiracy, Gen, Hardish Sci-Fi, Is Evil In The Blood?, Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, Morality Kitchen Sink As The Result Of Their Being Loads And Loads Of Characters, Multi, Mystery, Nature Is Not A Toy, Nature Versus Nuture, Other, Playing God Has Consquences, Protective! Malcolm, Teens Are Monsters, human cloning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27066634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathraptor22/pseuds/Deathraptor22
Summary: Ideas have consequences and bad ideas have victims.When Malcolm takes in a lost teenager he finds outside of his apartment, a case distracts him from trying to find where she belongs. When the team discovers their case is linked to a series of murders  Malcolm realizes the child is connected, the team uncovers a horrifying conspiracy, and even more horrifying suspects : teenage clones of some of the most notorious serial killers.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright &OC
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Prodigal Son belongs to Fox, which is why come 2021, assuming the Tribulations haven’t started, we should all watch live to make sure the ratings stay up. Cain’s Blood/ Project Cain (While this isn’t a cross over its basic concept inspired this story) belong to Geoffrey Girard.

“Your scientist was so preoccupied with whether or not they _could_ they didn’t stop to think if they _should_.” --- Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

It all started with a bad idea.

Though which bad idea it started with is up for debate. You could say it started with the bad idea of group of scientists. It has been said that ideas have consequences and bad ideas have victims and whoo boy, did this one have victims, but more on that in a minute. You could say it started with a disgruntled scientist’s bad idea, though that bad idea wouldn’t have been possible without the first bad idea.

For the sake of our purposes, let’s start with the bad idea of one Malcolm Bright. Well, this idea maybe wasn’t bad per se but at the very least, it was a questionable idea.

He had just got home; he was walking past the half-circle window when something caught his attention from the corner of his eyes. He stopped, taking a few steps back, and peered out the window, his eyes scanning the oddly deserted street. A few cars parked by the road, a few driving past, and few pedestrians on the sidewalk. Nothing out of the usual, really. Except for her. What had caught his eye was a girl, skinny, he couldn’t be too sure on age from that distance, but he was guessing mid-teens, wearing a thin black hooded jacket, the hood pulled up so he cou

ldn’t see her face even if he was on the street with her, sitting on the sidewalk, some sort of backpack at her side. Normally, it wouldn’t have caught his attention, homeless, people weren’t exactly uncommon in New York City, and unfortunately, some of them were teenagers, runaways, barely legal kids who had aged out of system. But, for starters, the way she was huddled, her arms wrapped around her legs, in an almost fetal position, she was clearly in distress. Well, she a child out on the street, of course she was in distress, he didn’t need to be a profiler to see _that._ There was also the way she was just…there, out in the open, not trying to scrape up food or shelter.

_She’s new to being homeless_. He thought to himself, _she doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know where to go. She’s terrified._ He couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her. No one should have to go through what she was. For some reason, he thought out loud to himself, “How did you get here?” His mind started turning, concern bubbling up. New York could be a dangerous chance for those in the best of circumstances. Who knew if she could make it through the night? He should do something. He could at least get her to shelter.

_Thirty something year old man approaching a teenager he has no relationship with_. Malcolm thought, _That’s going to end well._ While he might mean well, if he was misunderstood, the price could be high. Of course, no one was around. He could careful, adjust his body language to signal he meant no harm…

That was when it happened. A man in a ratty sweatshirt, the hood up, aggressive posturing. His intentions were definitely not good. And just as Malcolm feared, he began to approach the girl, who sensing his presence looked up.

Malcolm sprang into action, bounding back out of his door.

By the time he got to the scene, the girl was up off the down, the men pulling at her by the arm as she screamed, “Leave me alone!”

“Come on, girl, just let me see the bag!” The man demanded.

“Hey!” Malcom shouted, running across the street.

That was enough of a distraction for the man to loosen his grip on the girl, enabling her to get free. She whirled out of his grip, rearing back and pulling something from inside the jacket. A pistol, revolver, black and shiny and older-fashioned, she pointed it at her attacker, her hand trembling. “I said, leave me alone!”

Her attacker’s eyes widened and he stepped back. He was not expecting _that_.

“I’d do what she says.” Malcolm spoke up from where he had stopped, a foot or so away from the seen.

The man stood there a few moments before commenting, “Crazy bitch,” before running off.

As the thug faded into the distance, Malcolm re-started his approach, gingerly, his hands out in front of him. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

The girl whirled around and suddenly Malcolm found the gun trained on him. The girl’s brown eyes were wide, frantic, her hand still shaking, but then she paused for a moment, obviously appraising Malcolm in her mind, before beginning to lower the gun, slowly.

“It’s alright,” Malcolm assured her, stopping in his approach, hunching his shoulders slightly, trying to show that he posed no threat, “I’m not here to hurt you. I just—I just want to make sure you’re okay, after what just happened. “He paused, watching her, and tried a new approach, “That’s a Derringer, right? “

The girl’s face contorted into a look of confusion. “What?”

“The gun, it’s a Derringer Revolver.” Malcolm elaborated, carefully tilting his head, just a little, “Twenty-two, I think? Which, it might have been able to scare off that guy, but that’s not how you hold it, by the way.”

“What?” The girl repeated, even more confused.

“Can I?” Malcolm requested, gesturing towards her.

The girl lowered the gun, then nodded. Malcolm stepped forward, still moving at slower pace. When he was just close enough to reach out without officially invading her personal space, he reached out and took the hand holding the gun. “First off, don’t fail it around. Pick a spot, aim it. Center mass, the chest is best. You’re always sure to hit to something. Kneecap’s a less lethal option, but it’s much harder to hit. Also, your hand needs to be firm. Not shaking. Though, given what just happened, it’s understandable.” He let go of her hand, and she put the gun into her jacket as Malcolm continued to talk, “ Look, why don’t we start over? I’m Bright.”

“E-Ellie.” The girl finally stammered.

“Ellie,” Bright repeated, “Ellie, first, off, did that man hurt you?”

“No.” Ellie answered, her eyes darting around.

“Alright, good, that’s good.” Malcolm soothed, “Now, what’s a kid like you doing with that gun?”

“Uh, you saw what just happened, right?” Ellie quipped. After a moment she said, “My Mom---it’s my Mom’s. She gave it to me before---” Her voice trailed up and she appeared overwhelmed, a haunted look in her eye. Suddenly she went into flight mode, leaning down to grab her backpack, “Thanks for the rescue, and the gun tips, but I really need to be going—”

“Ellie, wait—” Malcolm began, “I just—look, please forgive an observation, but you’re obviously in some kind of trouble here. I just want to help”

Ellie put the backpack over her shoulders. “Look, no offense, Mr. Bright, but I don’t really think you can---” Just then she was cut by a loud new, drawing both sets of eyes in its direction.

What Malcolm thought was her backpack, he could now see was actually some sort of backpack styled pet carrier. The pack was black on the back side, pale green on the front, and coming out of the pale green side was a clear bubble staring out from which was a rather fluffy looking shorthaired cat with huge blue eyes staring up the pair.

“Little guy looks like he’s hungry.” Malcolm noted, looking directed at Ellie as he added, “So does his mom. Ellie, when was the last time you ate something?”

That turned out to be the trump card, and less than five minutes later, against her better judgement Ellie was stepping into this strange man’s apartment, pulling her hood down. her eyes looking around the living-room kitchen aera before her eyes landed on the red cloth lined cases of weapons framed by bookshelves. She gulped, questioning her decision. “Um, where’s the war?”

Malcolm was silent for a moment, confused, then realized where she was looking. “No, I, ah, collect old weapons. It’s actually one of my saner hobbies, if you ask the people who care about me.” He gestured over to the island table, “Go on, sit down.” Ellie apprehensively sat down on a stool in front of the table, sitting the pet carrier down beside her as Malcolm went to fridge to see if he could find anything that could be theoretically used to make a sandwich. Also, something could feed the cat. The fridge was almost bare, but he caught sight of a takeout box and remembered he barely touched the London broil inside. And if he was lucky there might be some still edible lettuce in the crisper drawer. “Ah!” As all this was going on, he heard Sunshine began chirp rather franticly. “Oh, ah, sorry, but I gotta ask, your cat---”

Glancing over Ellie saw the little yellow and green bird going nuts in a white floor cage. “Oh, no, the only thing Ginger’s ever really attacked is my plants.” She couldn’t stop staring at the bird from the corner of her eye, or at least how much the bird was freaking out. Did it know somehow? She heard somewhere that animals could sense things people couldn’t. The supernatural even. Maybe it could sense what she was and was trying to warn him. “That’s why I can never kept hostas.”

As they talked, Malcom took the London broil out of the take-out box and began cutting it up. “Ginger, huh? He um, looks more brown than Ginger to me.”

“Yeah, he is, but I, um, when he was a kitten, I found him in this container garden I was trying to grow trying to snack on the ginger.” Ellie explained softly, “Never did grow well, really.” Malcolm was about finished with the sandwich at this point. “So, um, I take it you garden?”

A thrill of alarm went through Ellie. “How did you---”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned, plants, and you said you were trying to grow a container garden.” Malcolm told her, sitting the sandwich in front of her before sitting a plate of sliced meat by the carrier.

“Oh. Right.” Ellie opened the carrier, taking Ginger, who was also wearing a pale green harness leash, out of the it, slipping the end of the leash around her hand. Even though Ginger was not a hunter in any sense of the word she wasn’t taking the chance. Then she scooped up the sandwich and began tearing into thing, barely even tasing it, or registering that there was taste for that matter, flicking her tongue to catch whatever didn’t get into her mouth, with the favor of a starving animal.

It broke Malcom’s heart to watch. No one should be that hungry, much less a child. “Ellie, Ellie, slow down, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

Ellie began pacing herself, whipping her mouth with her sleeve. Noticing her cat was just sniffing around, the offering, but not eating, she said, “Ginger, don’t turn up your nose.”

“You know if you want some more, I used the last of lettuce, but I got enough meat and bread for another sandwiched.” Ellie swallowed. “I shouldn’t, you’ve been—like, so great already---” “Ellie, it’s okay.” Malcolm urged, “So long as you _slow down_.”

“Okay,” Ellie agreed, almost finished with the first sandwich, “Okay, sure.”

By the time Malcolm returned, Ginger had found the broil satisfactory, scarfing it down. As Ellie bit into the sandwich, keeping her word and eating at a much slower place, Malcolm decided not to come right out with it, but she had given him a started point. “So gardening, that must take a lot of time and dedication. I tried my hand at it once, and I lost count of how many bushes I mangled before I threw out the gardening implements. Now I live in terror of the day the shrubbery of this city come for revenge.”

Ellie giggled over her sandwich. “There’s a lot of weeding. And watering. You have to be careful with watering, you don’t want to give them too much, but then you don’t want to give them too little and some plants need more water than others, and of course there’s the issue of PH level in the soil. It’s as much science as it is art.”

“Hey, is it true that singing helps plants grow?” Malcolm asked, holding off on the litany of important questions he had

. “Yeah, actually.” Ellie confirmed, “ There’s two theories why, the first is that the carbon dioxide emitted as humans sing helps plant to photosynthesize more effectively, but others think it’s actually vibration, because,” She paused to take a bite, “Like, they grow better even if you just pray the radio.”

“And do you play the radio for your plants or do you sing?” Malcolm questioned.

“I’m pretty tone-deft but, yeah, I still sing.” Ellie confessed, “Classic rock mostly, but the tree peonies, they like showtunes. Or at least, I say they do, I know they---I know they don’t really have preferences. “

“Hm.” Malcolm nodded, an amused smile crossing his face.

Forgetting her troubles for a moment, Ellie continued. “Mom pretty much lets me have free reign over the back yard. I planted these gorgeous green jewels all around the house, that’s this flower, that’s well, it’s green, and—” Her voice trailed off as she looked down, reality hitting her again. Not wanting her host to catch on, she took a bite and swallowed, before asking, “So, um, what are your hobbies? You know, others than collecting weapons?”

Malcolm had noticed the change, but feared she might shut down if he inquired about it, so he kept the conversation going. “I’m something of a workaholic actually. I’m a profiler. I study criminal behavior.” Ellie froze.

“So, you know about serial killers?” She asked softly.

That stopped Malcolm for a minute, but considering the girl probably got all her information about criminal profiling from _Silence of The Lambs_ and _Criminal Minds_ plus, he _did_ deal with a lot of serial killers, he brushed off, saying, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“So, you would know about Elizabeth Bathory?” Ellie inquired, looking up at him nervously.

Malcolm had to think a moment, then he remembered, nodding. “Oh, right the Blood Countess, sometimes known as Lady Dracula, because of her story’s influence on Stoker’s novel.”

“I didn’t know who she was either.” Ellie told him so softly, she barely heard her, “I had to _Google_ her.”

Malcolm tilted his head, befuddled. He tried a few sanarios on for size, but he couldn’t come up with one that would adequately explain why the teen in front of him was randomly looking up medieval serial killers. “Why were you---”

“You know, on the one of the sights I found, the guy writing about her said she might not have done what they said she did.” Ellie spoke up before he could finish, her voice finally at a normal level, “I mean, she probably wasn’t nice or anything, they say she probably still beat her servants, and that’s still horrible, but they said she might have been set up for the murders by this noble guy who wanted her land. Do you—do you think that could be true? That’s she’s not the monster everyone thinks?”

“Well, might be the present-mindedness talking, but even if she did just beat her servants, that’s still pretty monstrous.” Malcolm responded, intrigued by the conversation and momentarily forgetting his end goal, “But there’s still the matter of the over three hundred witnesses and survivors, physical evidence and the bodies found on her estate, as well imprisoned girls, investigations back then were had some rather questionable methods, grant you, and she wasn’t ---killing the girls to bathe in their blood, coagulation would make that impossible, but she was guilty of at least some of the murders.”

“B-But there was never any trail even though the king of Hungary asked for one.” Ellie insisted, almost desperately, “I mean, how does that even happen? I mean, he was the king, you’d think he would have got what he wanted. And this noble, he wrote letters to his wife, and they kept forgetting to write in code, it-it’s not like any of it said, ‘the plot of frame Elizabeth Bathory for murder, but—” Her voice trailed. “Then why? Why did she do it? Why did she—why did she hurt all those girls? Why did she--”

“Maybe we should drop this.” Malcolm suggested, concerned, “This is clearly upsetting you.” She was frantic, on the edge of tears. As if she had some vested interest in serial killer from over a hundred years ago being framed.

Ellie stared at him with pleading brown eyes. “Please. Just tell me.” Her mind was filled with questions. Most of which she couldn’t ask him. He would think she was crazy and he wouldn’t have the answers anyway. Maybe this stranger could at least answer one.

Malcolm was silent, but he knew had to answer her. Maybe it would help with whatever was going on. “Well, the most accepted theory is sadism. There’s a longer explanation of what that is, but basically, she took pleasure from their pain.”

“But I don’t---” Ellie began softly, “I don’t like seeing people in pain.”

“Because you’re not sadist.” Malcolm quipped. Well, she probably wasn’t. He couldn’t make that diagnosis yes or no in so little time. Actually, he was finding Ellie hard to pin down all together.

“So, if say, hypothetically if someone were to like, make a genetic copy of Elizabeth Bathory would she—would she be a sadist?” Ellie asked, “Would she—would she turn out like Bathory?”

In spite of himself, Malcolm laughed, because the question was so unexpected. “Genetic copy? You mean like a clone?”

“Yeah, like, if someone got ahold of part of her preserved body, got cells, had a successful---” Ellie began, “You get the point.”

Malcolm paused for a moment, still thrown by the bizarre turn this conversation had taken, also formulating an answer. “Well, I would honestly need to know more about Bathory’s sadism, any comorbidities, basically was this combined with any other mental or personality disorder, what were the risk factors, what made her a sadist, but there’s every chance, the clone would be a moral, law a biding member of society. If human cloning was legal and someone would be crazy enough to clone a serial killer.” After a moment he asked, “Ellie, why would ask something like that?”

Ellie sat what left of the sandwich down, getting up, saying, “Thanks for the dinner, Mr. Bright, but, um, I really need to be going.” She picked up Ginger and began to put him back in the carrier.

“Ellie, wait.” Malcolm requested again, starting to make his way around to her, “Ellie, you can’t stay out on the street. Is there somewhere safe I can take you, or I could get to you a shelter—”

Ellie paused, wrapping one arm around herself, feeling the chuck in her jacket. “Actually, there’s somewhere, but, um, I don’t actually know where it is.”

Malcolm watched as the girl pulled out a thick, glossy black leather journal, taking a folded slip of paper out and handed it to him. Opening it, he silently read _D. McNab, 867, New Greenwich, 555-666-777_.

“I spent the whole bus ride trying the to call the number, but it no one’s picked up and whoever that is haven’t set up their voice mail.” Ellie explained nervously, “And then I got---lost. That’s how I wound up here.”

The wording wasn’t lost on the profiler. _Whoever that is._ “You mean you don’t know who it is?” Malcolm asked, glancing up at her in surprise. The more he learned, the less sense Ellie made.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Ellie asked, her heart jumping into her chest, “But—but my mom must have trusted this person, so—so maybe they can help me.” Then she winced, as if in pain by whatever thought followed that statement.

Malcolm studied the girl in front of him carefully for a moment. There was more to the story. Ellie was definitely hiding something from him. But if he pushed anymore, he could lose her. “Okay, here’s what we do. I work with the cops, so tomorrow we’ll go into the precinct and I’ll give this to my friend, hopefully she’ll run it and find out who D. McNab is, and you can stay tonight on the couch. If it makes you feel better, you can keep the Derringer.” He doubted she would feel comfortable helpless in stranger’s house, she didn’t really have any reason to trust him, maybe that would make her feel safer. It wasn’t ideal, but nothing about the situation he currently found himself in was. Nothing new there, really.

“Wait, you’re not afraid I’ll— “Ellie began.

“I’m a bit concerned I’m reading you wrong, but I also want you to feel safe, if I’m right.” Malcolm explained.

“How ‘bout this, you help me hail a cab and I’ll go there myself. “Ellie suggested.

“Ellie, I can’t just let you go to some mysterious strangers’ house, this person could be anyone.” Malcolm reasoned.

“But why?” Ellie asked, “Why are you even bother with me?”

“Honestly?” Malcolm responded, “A pathological need to save everyone, even at my own expense? Also, now that I’m in this, if I just leave you, and something happens to you, or if I don’t even learn what happens to you---I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Ellie sighed in surrender. “Alright, sounds like a plan, then.” She glanced down and saw that Ginger. Glancing back up she added, “Thanks, Mr. Bright.”

“Just—Bright.” He told her.

“You need to call CPS, Bright.”

Malcolm had called Dani to ask if for help tracking down McNab. Perhaps not surprisingly, she thought the profiler had officially lost what was left of his marbles and was trying to talk him into calling the authorities.

“Dani, you know a kid her age, they’ll just dump her in a group home.” Malcolm reasoned, draping one of the blankets he hands managed to scrape up over the couch, “They probably won’t even look for McNab.”

“Well, keeping her with you is just asking for trouble.” Dani reasoned. She knew her friend wouldn’t try anything insidious with the girl, it was more so _the gir_ l she was worried about. She wouldn’t be the first child to use to their youthful appearance to rob someone, or worst.

Realizing like what Dani was getting at, Malcolm challenged, “Dani, if this was some sort of set up don’t you think I would at least suspect it?”

“Even you don’t see everything, Bright.” Dani pointed out.

Malcolm glanced over to where Ellie was sitting Indian-style on the floor, Ginger still in a leash rubbing against her side, while his human was engrossed in the journal, she had pulled the number from. Walking towards his bed room, talking in a lower voice. “Yes, but, in my experience, when people of any age pull scams, they’ve never brought their cats with them.”

“Cat?” Dani repeated on the other side of the phone, not expecting that. He hadn’t mentioned the cat before. “Yeah, she has a cat with her in this –carrier thing.” Malcolm explained, “Cute little guy, actually. So far hasn’t tried to eat anything he’s not supposed to. Look, Dani, I don’t know what happened, but this girl has been through something. She’s on edge, withdrawn, dodging questions, and we had this …really weird conversation, and then there’s her mom. She’s only mentioned her a few times, but when she did---I think something might have happened to her mom. Something bad.” After a paused he requested, “Please, please, help me with this, Dani. Please.”

Dani relented. “Alright, bring her and the number in tomorrow. But, Bright? If you start thinking things aren’t on the up and up, _call me_ and I’ll be right there.”

“Will, do.” Malcolm agreed, “Thanks, Dani.”

When he walked back into the living room, he found Ellie putting a somewhat reluctant Ginger back in the carrier, saying, “I know you’ve been in this for a while, but it’s just a little while longer, okay?” “You don’t have to do that.” Malcolm told her, causing Ellie to jump with a start and whirl around.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You don’t have to do that, put him up. I’m sure it’ll be fine, he’s been well-behaved so far, or I could move Sunshine somewhere out of his reach.”

“Is that your bird?” Ellie asked, before saying, “Sorry, that’s dumb, of course, you’re talking about the bird.” She glanced over to the cage, “I’ve already put you out enough, and honestly while I’m worried about Sunshine, she’s the least of my worries.” Her eyes subconsciously looked over to the carpet under Malcolm’s desk, and the large bookshelves, and everything else nice in the apartment that Ginger could turn into a scratching post. Or a litter box. She then closed the carrier.

“Alright,” Malcolm relented, “So, um, if you need anything, I’ll be right over there.” He pointed towards his bedroom, pausing a moment. At last he said, “There are some…um, things that might seem weird, but there is a reasonable explanation.” It was the best way he could think to explain the restraints. At least quickly.

“Okay.” Ellie responded, unsure, lying down on the couch. “Thanks again, Bright. Good night.”

“Good night.” Malcolm responded, turning off the light for her. Not for a lack of trying, Ellie didn’t immediately fall asleep. Her body wouldn’t shut down and neither would her mind, racing with thoughts of the last 72 hours. About the people hunting her. About the fact that she was being hunted. About her Mom. About what had happened to her Mom after Ellie ran. About who her Mom really was. About who Ellie really was. Or what she was. What was she? Even with what Malcolm said, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Being in strange place, with a strange man she still wasn’t sure she could trust, but right now was her best bet at finding any safe haven. She breathed slowly, in and out, in and out, listening to her host mill around before presumably going to bed himself, when at last, her body and mind gave into unconsciousness.

She wished it hadn’t.

_The bus terminal was bustling, hundreds of people milling around, getting tickets, waiting at tables, getting on buses. Ellie looked around, before looking down at the ticket in her hand. Unless one counted the school bus, she had never done anything like this before. How did this work? Were the numbers in order? Would there be some kind of announcement? Finally, her eyes landed on it: 38._

That’s me. _She thought, stepping forward, when someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth as she tried to scream…_

Malcolm awoke with to the sound of a young girl screaming. It took a spilt second to remember, _Ellie,_ but by then he had separated the cuffs from their chains, rushing into the living room where he found the teenager sitting up right, screaming. “Ellie, what’s wrong?!” He exclaimed running to her and crouching down. That was when he realized. “Ellie, you need to wake up.” He called out urgently, “Ellie, wake up!”

Ellie’s shot open, looking around, terrified and bewildered. “They found me at the bus stop….”

“Ellie, it’s alright,” Malcolm assured her, “You just had nightmare. I know it’s—it’s really scary, but you’re safe. Just breathe.”

Ellie did as he instructed, breathing in and out, but her heart kept pounding.

“Ellie…” Malcolm began.

“I’m fine.” Ellie cut him off, “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

Malcolm was silent a moment. He had heard that before. “Well, as an expert of being ‘fine’ I get it. I won’t ask. But if you’re ever ready not to be fine—”

Tears welled up in the teen’s eyes. “I just want by mom.” She sobbed, throwing herself at Malcolm and sob into his shoulder. It felt so infantile, so embarrassing, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted her Mom to come and hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright. She wanted to wake up and find that this was the nightmare.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

As much as Malcolm wanted to assure her everything was going to be alright, he couldn’t. So he did what he could. “Ssshhh…” Malcolm soothed, just letting her cry it out.


	2. Broken Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A triple murder leads to some weird theories and a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I don’t think it’s graphic (Why I didn't actually use the warnings) but the crime scene gets a little gory.   
> Happy Halloween/Reformation Day!

“Why did you let her bring the cat?”

Dani and Malcolm were looking at where a rather forlorn looking Ellie was slumped in the chair at Malcolm’s desk, the carrier at her feet, where Ginger’s head perked up out of the bubble, curiously taking in his new surroundings, appearing in somewhat better spirits than his human.

“We were both kind of worried about the damage he could wreak left unsupervised—” Malcolm began.

“Which means you were afraid he’d eat your bird.” Dani cut him off, nodding.

“Not to mention, who knows if there’d be time to go back and get him depending on how things went with McNab.” Malcolm added, “Plus, having him near seems to bring her comfort. She had rough night last night.”

After the nightmare, Malcolm had spent the rest of the night by Ellie’s side. The poor girl never really got back to sleep; thought she made an effort at pretending. As much as he wanted to look out for this child, he couldn’t protect her from her own cruel mind. In addition to whatever had happened in her nightmares, she started getting these horrible couching fits seemingly at random. All in all, no one had fun last night. “

Please tell me you at least didn’t let her bring the gun.” Dani requested. “

No, Dani, I brought a teenage girl with a semi-legal weapon to a police station.” Malcolm snarked. “Of course, the gun stayed at my place.”

With that out of the way, Dani got down to brass tacks. “So, where’s the number?”

Malcolm handed the slip of paper Ellie had given him. “Here.”

Dani took it from him with no hesitation. “I’ll see what I can find.” Working at her keyboard a minute, she looked to him, asking “Bright, do you actually know anything about this girl?”

“Her name is Ellie Stone, she’s fifteen, she likes gardening, her cat’s name is Ginger, when she was a kid she was in and out of the hospital a lot with lung problems, she’s in the city looking for someone her mom told her to go to and she has no idea who that person is, she hitch-hiked here for Syracuse, other than that, getting any pertinent information from is like getting blood from turnip.” Malcolm summarized, “And yes, I still think she’s hiding something about why her mom has sent her on this mission and I think it’s something bad, but I’m working on it. “ He glanced over before saying, “I’m sorry, I need to go check on her. Thank you so much for doing this. Really.”

“Just—try not to make a habit of taking in every street urchin you see.” Dani requested.

Ellie shifted back to forth in the chair, eyes darting around the room. She already uncomfortable and while she was probably imagining it, she just kept feeling like people were looking at her. Granted, it was probably weird, the unit’s profiler bringing in some random kid in. And she kept thinking one of them would show up. That they had tracked her down. That any second one of them would come in and pounce again…

Just then her racing thoughts were interrupted by someone asking, “How are you doing?” She gasped, startled, jumping up only to find Malcolm looking at her from across the desk. “Sorry.” Malcolm apologized, “Bit jumpy?”

“Sorry, it’s just I’ve…I’ve never been in a police station before.” Ellie responded, abashed, “Well, not unless you count the sixth-grade field trip. “She adjusted herself awkwardly, “I’m just a bit nervous.” After a beat she asked, “So, what did your friend say?”

“Detective Powell said she’d see what she could find.” Malcolm told her, pulling up a spare chair and sitting across from the girl as she sat back down, “Ellie, is there anything you could tell me about McNab? Anything at all? It might be able to help us find them.”

Ellie was silent, her mind involuntarily going to back to three days prior.

_“This will explain everything.” Her mother told her, her blonde hair falling out of its bun, frantic as she shoved the journal with the slip of paper on top at her daughter, “Go to the address on the paper. She’ll know what know what to do.” She cupped her Ellie’s face. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”_

“I think it might be a woman.” Ellie said finally, “When my Mom gave me the address, she said, ‘she’ll know what to do’.”

“Know what to do about what?” Malcolm asked.

“I’m—not sure.” Ellie responded, “Honest.” And it was true. There was a couple of options to what McNab, whoever she was, was supposed to do with this situation. “I’m sorry, that’s really all I know. My Mom never said anything about her until three days ago.”

“What happened three days ago?” Malcolm questioned gently. Ellie started doing a staring contest with the floor. “Ellie,” Malcolm began slowly, “I just want to help you. And I get that you may not want to talk about whatever happened but---I’m flying blind here. If you could just give me something.”

Before Ellie could answer, Gil stepped out. “We got a triple homicide, possible kidnapping---” His voice trailed off when he saw the foundling at Malcolm’s desk. “Who is she?”

“Some kid Bright brought in.” Dani explained, “Found her last night, saved her from a mugging.” Gil looked at the Malcolm and the girl, concerned. When did this happen?

“Alright, we’ll pick this up later.” Malcolm told Ellie, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and a pen, “I think we have a case. This is my number if there’s an emergency.” He handed her the paper, “I have no right telling anyone this, but please don’t go wondering off.” After a beat he realized, “Do you actually have a phone?”

“It died on the bus.” Ellie informed him.

“Alright,” Malcolm began, getting up, “Let’s see if I can beg, borrow, or steal a charger.”

Gil stepped forward as Malcolm began to look, “Gil, you wouldn’t happen to have a charger would you?” He gestured to Ellie, explained, “I mean, I don’t think anything’s going to happen, Ellie’s a pretty good kid so far, but just in case—”

“Let’s table that for a minute,” Gil told him, “Care to tell me when you opened the Malcolm Bright Home for Wayward Girls?”

“Look, long story short, I saw her outside my place last night, someone tried to mug her, he failed, one thing led to another, she was lost, she’s in the city looking for someone, I couldn’t just leave her out on the streets so I told her I would help her.” Malcolm explained, “Which I am. Look, I know it might be the most appropriate thing bringing her here, but…”

However , before he could finish that thought, they were interrupted by Ellie letting out serious of rough, wheezy coughs. Malcolm rushed over to her crouching down, “Hey, hey, hey, you okay there? Do you need doctor?”

“No,” Ellie got out, “It’s just—” She began couching again.

“Hey, Ellie, those lung problems you told me about—” Malcolm began.

“That’s not it.” Ellie insisted, shaking her head, “I haven’t had those since I was nine.” The coughing subsided. “But—I know you have to go, but, if I could get some water—”   
“Sure, of course.” Malcolm responded, getting up to go get the requested, leaving her alone with Gil.

The Luteniet eyed the girl, trying to figure her out, causing her shift uncomfortably under his stern gaze. Realizing how scared she was, he softened the look. “I don’t bite. I’m just….I’m worried about my friend. He’s had….he’s a rough time lately.” That was all he was going to say on the matter both out of consideration for Malcolm and having neither the time nor flow chart it would take to explain.

“I’m not…I’m not a bad person.” Ellie told him softly.

_Well, that’s reassuring and not weird at all._ Gil snarked silently to himself.

To say the crime scene was particularly gruesome was an understatement.

In the living room were two bodies splayed out on the floor, but you could barely tell that they were so battered and covered in their own blood. Across from the woman was the broken remains of a floor lamp that may have been white at one point, but now it looked pink there was so much blood on it.

“Vics are Whitney and Lewis Halley, their son, Connor.” Gil surmised, “Wife’s car pool came by to pick her up, found this. “

“One daughter, Elizabeth, fifteen.” TJ added, “ Nowhere to be found. Not sure if she’s another victim or suspect as of yet.”

Malcolm carefully stepped through the crime scene, eying the bodies. “If she did, she wasn’t alone. She’d need at least one partner to control three people, and there’s the level of damage of done. There had to be at least, three attackers here. Maybe more. And the amount of violence, way more than would be necessary. Someone either hated them or maybe just… just didn’t want to stop.” After a beat a third option occurred to him, “Or didn’t _know_ when to stop.”

That was when Edrisa walked in. “If you think this is bad, check out the son’s room.”

The son, or at least his body, was tied to wood framed bed by his hands and feet, his almost necked body covered in slashes, his briefs stained red with blood.

“From the coagulation and rigor mortis, I’d have to say the castration was done anti-mortem.” Edrisa said, wincing.

Malcolm walked around the body, carefully inspecting it. “Whoever did this wanted the victim to suffer. And took their time, trusting him up like this, the cuts…he was the main target, the parents were an after thought. “

“Saw too much?” TJ suggested.

“Yeah, or got in the way.” Malcolm responded, “Whoever did this took pleasure from it. We could be looking at sadist.”

It just so happened that Dani doubled back to living room, when picture on the TV stand caught her eye. Or rather, something about one of the people in them. At first she thought he was seeing things, put on instinct, picked up the picture with a gloved hand for a closer look, her hear dropping, and her eyes widening. “Oh, my God.”

In the bedroom, TJ had just been informed of some dirt on the main target of the attack. “It appears Lewis was racking a criminal record, a few drunken disorderlies, he was just realized on an assault charge…” That was when Dani came running into the room. “Bright,” She began, brushing back both of the other cops and the corner to make it to the profiler. “Bright, look at this.”

Malcolm looked over in his eyes widened in shock, immediately seeing what the detective was going on about. It was at that point Edrisa walked in from where she had been examining the third body. “Ah, what’s going on?”

“That’s what I was about to ask.” Gil responded, “Okay, what’s so fascinating about the picture?”

Dani was the first to say it, holding the picture for Gil to see. “Elizabeth and the girl Bright brought in, Ellie; they could be twins.”

Dani was right. Expect from how they wore their hair and their clothing choices---Elizabeth’s hair was shoulder-length with streak of purple and dressed noticeably more preppy, while Ellie’s hair was soft bob and was dressed in casual jeans and layers---they were identical. Same soft brown hair, same brown eyes, same build and face shape, everything. TJ said what everybody was wondering.

“Is there any chance that this girl could be our missing kid with a different hair cut?”

“Okay, Bright, I need know everything about this girl, now. “Gil demanded urgently. “

Really, all she’d told me is what I told you back at the precinct.” Malcolm answered, “ I mean, she has exaggerated startle response, and –there is something she’s hiding, but---” He looked to the corner, “Edrisa, what was the time of death?”

“Rigor Mortis puts it’s at about sixteen hours ago.” Edrisa answered.

“Right, that would about the time I found her outside my place.” Malcolm responded, “Without a spot of blood on her. Whoever did this---” He gestured to the victim before gesturing down the hall, “Would have been covered in blood. And she could barely hold a gun on a mugger, I don’t know how she’s involved with this, but she’s not the killer.”

“Gun?” Gil repeated, “This kid has a gun?”

“It’s back at my place.” Malcolm assured him quickly, “Apparently when whatever happened, happened, her Mom gave it to her. And no, I can’t get her to tell me who her Mom is, but there doesn’t appear to me a dad in the picture.”

“Alright, Dani, go back to precinct, question Ellie, see if you can get to the bottom of this---whatever this is.” Gil instructed. He honestly couldn’t find any reasonable explanation for what was happening here either. “She may not to be the killer, but there’s no way this is a coinendence.” Dani nodded and began to head towards the door, Malcolm following after her before the Luteinent stepped slightly in front of him, not completely blocking the younger man’s path, but still stopping him, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Gil, Ellie is a minor, if she’s a suspect, Dani can’t question her without a guardian.” Malcolm pointed out.

“You’re not her guardian.” Gil countered, “And you said it yourself she has an alibi for time of the murder. She does have an alibi, right?” He didn’t know exactly what was going on with this girl, but he hadn’t rule out her somehow compromising Malcolm’s decision-making abilities.

“Yes. “Malcolm insisted, “Gil, the only time she was out of my sight last night was going to bathroom. Other than that, she flipped through this journal she had on her, walked her cat around, went to bed before nine, woke up with a nightmare and I was with her the rest of the night. “After a beat he added, “But she’s scared, and avoidant, and she’s not going to talk to just anyone, and I’ve established something of a repour with her. Just let me sit in, Dani can run the show.”

Gil thought on it for a minute. “Alright, but Dani runs the show.”

“Thank you.” Malcolm breathe gratefully, following Dani in hot pursuit after being allowed to past.

That was when Gil began addressing officers on the scene. “Okay, we need to check for any signs that they ever had a cat….”

Back at the station, satisfied that no one was watching her, Ellie was reading the journal again, thought she was peaking up every few seconds. S _he’s still being kept for observation, just to be sure, but so far, this one seems the picture of health. Seven pounds nine ounces, no obvious defects. The way she can wail I don’t think we’re going to find anything wrong with her lungs._

Ellie smiled ruefully. _Spoke a little too soon, Mom._ In truth, Ellie spent half of her childhood in and out of the hospital with mysterious lung problems the doctors couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t asthma, it wasn’t cystic fibrosis, she would just get into these weird coughing fits or become random unable to breathe and she would feel like her chest was going to explode. It probably didn’t help that they couldn’t get her biological parent’s medical records. ‘Closed adoption’, at least that was the excuse her mother gave at the time. Well, now Ellie knew that was a lie. It all mysteriously stopped about the time she was nine after her Mom took her to a ‘specialist’, in Erie.

But now that she thought back on her time with the specialist…a lot of things didn’t really met sense. Except for a few nurses, the only person she saw there was a man called Dr. Atkinson, who seemed really chummy with her Mom. They stayed there for over three months in private room, with Dr. Atkinson persona administering the ‘treatment’, clear liquid delivered via shot in the arm. She was never told what was in it, and at the time she didn’t really care. She done being the sickly little kid who had to be homeschooled so she didn’t die. She wanted to be able to plant flowers, like the kind they put in the rooms, and she couldn’t do that if she kept choking. But now she wondered. Hospitals didn’t normally work like that, right?

Now that she knew the truth, she kept going over memories in her mind, trying to see if there was anything, any sign. Should she have known? How did she miss it? And now that she thought back, there were things that didn’t really add up now. Like how could her mother afford a full-time tutor on a teacher’s salary? Or those phone conversations, note dictations, even writing in journals like the one in her hands that would abruptly stop when Ellie would enter the room. Or the trips they would go on. Art Museums, science museums, zoos, parks. Even after she switched to private school, Mom would sometimes pull her out for a few days for a ‘supplementary field trip’. She didn’t remember every single detail, but now that she was thinking back, she could distinctly remember her mother, at least a few times, going off for a bit, while Ellie was distracted by a whale skeleton or a De Gas painting.

There was this one particular time, at a pumpkin patch when she was seven that she could remember clear as day.

_They walked by the pumpkins, Ellie slowing down to glance past, holding on to her mother’s hand as best she could. She was wearing those mittens with no actual fingers, just a hump and a thumb. “Mommy---”_

_“You can play in a minute, baby.” Her mother assured her, tense, somewhat breathless, “Mommy just needs to find her friend first.”_

_A few seconds later her ‘friend’ found them first, a man stiff man with smooth, neatly placed hair that was slowly turning a pale sliver dressed in a long black coat, tightly buttoned up walking next to a little boy about the same age Ellie, also dressed in a black coat and hat. “Dr. Stone.” The man greeted her mother formally, “Is this Elizabeth?”_

_Ellie hid behind her mother. Even thought they had just met; she didn’t like this man. She didn’t like how he peered down at her. It scared her. “Ellie, this is my college, Dr. Goodwin, and his son, Marty.” Her mother told her, tugging at her, but not succeeding and pulling her from behind her back, addressing the man apologetically, “She’s a bit shy.”_

_Marty didn’t say anything, moving to try to see Ellie. At last he noted, “You look like a lobster.”_

_It wasn’t untrue. She was dressed in thick red coat with her hood up, red mittens, and red scarf covering half her face. While not probably the correct thing to say aloud, the lobster comparison wasn’t exactly off._

_“Martin!” Dr .Goodwin scolded. “_

_What?” Marty responded, “She does.”_

_Ellie’s mom leaned down in front of her, pulling out her wallet. “Ellie, here’s twenty-five dollars in case you or Marty want a snack, why don’t you take him and go play while Mommy talks to Dr. Goodwin?”_

_“Okay.” Ellie agreed, taking the money and running off, when she realized Marty wasn’t following. She turned around and look at the boy, who looked back at his father._

_“It’s alright, my son, go on.” Dr. Goodwin told him. With that Marty came running after her._

_Marty was weird. He barely said a word and when he did it was like he didn’t know how to talk to people. Even at seven, Ellie could see that. And he also kept referring to his father as ‘Dr. Goodwin’_

_“Why do you keep calling your dad Dr. Goodwin?” Ellie finally asked, as they shifted for minerals at little shifter they had at the patch._

_“He’s not my dad.” Marty informed her matter of factly, not looking up from where he was shifting through the sand and water, “Not my real dad anyway. I don’t have one.”_

_Ellie looked up, confused. “You mean you’re adopted like me?”_

_Marty looked down. “I’m not supposed to tell. It’s a secret.” He looked sad and embarrassed for a moment, when suddenly his face lit up. “I found one! “He held up a small rough green jewel. Seeing Ellie’s grin, he reached out and handed it to her, “Here. Take it.”_

_Ellie squinched her face. “I can’t. It’s yours. You found it.”_

_“But you’re nobility.” Marty said, “You should have it.”_

_“I’m what?” Ellie responded._

_Marty looked down again. “Sorry. I forgot.”_

_Trying to cheer her new friend up, Ellie said, “I’ll probably find my own soon. Here. You can help me.”_

_A_ _fter Ellie finally found a jewel—a little piece of rough pink quartz---the pair went to the picnic tables where they had food stands set up and bought cups of cider and buttery suckers shaped like corn stalks, both of which Marty was woofing down._

_“Marty, slow down!” Ellie urged, “I don’t think I have enough money for more and I’m not giving you mine!”_

_Marty was currently almost draining his mug. “Sorry.” He said, sitting it down, “It’s just so good.” Then he put the sucker back into his mouth._

_E_ _llie tilted her head. “Have you never had a sucker before?”_

_“A couple of times.” Marty said, “But Dr. Goodwin doesn’t like me to have a lot of sugary stuff.”_

_Ellie was quiet a moment, contemplating that. “Not even at Halloween?”_

_“Not unless Gwen sneaks me out.” Marty told her, “She’s my English tutor.”_

_Ellie felt something strange inside her. Something sad. “Here.” She handed what was left of her sucker to him._

_“It’s okay.” Marty told her, digging into his own. T_

_hat was when it happened. Within seconds Ellie could feel her throat closing up, pressure in her chest. She gasped for air, struggling to breath, hitting the ground. “_

_Ellie?” Marty called out, getting to his feet, “Ellie!” That was the last thing Ellie could remember before everything went black._

After that, anything she could remember was a blur. Waking up in the ambulance and hearing paramedics whispering about a makeshift trichotomy. She never did get all the details but someone had performed one with a knife and straw. She spent about a week in the hospital with that one, and it took even longer for the stiches to heal. Whoever did it saved her life, thought.

She never saw Marty, or Dr. Goodwin again. Or the piece of quartz for that matter.

She was now convinced that Marty was in fact like her, and not just in the sense of being adopted. There was a Martin on the list at the beginning of the journal. Martin—something. She couldn’t remember now….

Just then, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of mewling. She looked down to see a rather miserable looking Ginger and his carrier. Not that she could blame the little guy. He had been in that carrier all day after days upon days with barely getting out. “Come here.” Ellie said looking around before opening the carrier and taking the feline out, sitting him her lap and beginning to stoke him, softly singing, _“Now I heard there was a secret cord, that David said and it pleased the Lord. But you don’t really care for music, do ya….”_

Her voice trailed off as she saw Malcolm come in with Dani, both of them wearing grave looks. Ellie placed a rather reluctant Ginger back in the carrier, her heart beating faster. What had happened? Had they found out somehow? Or did it have something to do with the case they were working?

Both of them walked right up to the girl. “Ellie, you need to come with us.” Malcolm told her gently, but urgently, “We have something we need to talk about.”

They took Ellie to the interview room, Ellie shifting uncomfortably in the chair on the suspect’s side, Dani in front of her, and a reluctant Malcolm standing by the door. “What’s going on?” Ellie asked, clearly scared.

Dani closed her eyes for a moment, then began. “Ellie, you know the case we were called away on? Well, they had a daughter, she’s missing, and –” Her voice trailed off as she pulled out the bag family photo, sliding it across the table, “She looks just like you.”

Ellie stared at the picture, her blood running cold, her heart beginning to beat faster. She knew there could be another, though at the rate the journal was going, she doubted it. But she still wasn’t prepared to see her. And she was in New York City. The very place she ran to! Where her mom told her to go! Were they everywhere?! Would she go to Timbuctoo and the friggin’ mayor would be one?!

“Ellie, we need you to explain this.” Dani told her firmly, still trying to be as gentle as she could at the same time.

Ellie gapped for a few moments before she could find words again, and when she did, they were half-truths and outright lies. “I—I don’t know. Is she adopted like me? Maybe this is like one of those studies they did in the 70s. You know, where they separated twins and didn’t tell them about each other?”

Dani glanced over to Malcolm, with a look on her face that asked, _Do_ you _know what she’s talking about?_

“Twin Studies.” Malcolm identified it, “While they’re not the only one to do this I think she’s referring to the 1979 Minnesota Center for Twin in Family research that studied identical and fraternal twins that were reared apart.”

“I don’t know what it’s called I’m not a physiologist!” Ellie snapped, in tears.

In spite of his promise to let Dani take the lead, Malcolm couldn’t help himself. He rushed to Ellie, crouching down in front of the chair. “Ellie, Ellie, you need to calm down.”

“Bright—” Dani began, but then stopped at the pleading look the profiler gave him, letting him handle it.

Malcolm took out a handkerchief and handed to the girl, instructing her, “Now, breath in, and breath out.”

Ellie did as she was instructed, breathing evenly, slowly, while whipping her face.

“There you go.” Malcolm said, “Now, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we need to talk to your Mom. It’s important. “ Ellie shook her head, whipping her eyes. Malcolm took a minute to ready himself, then got a little firmer. “Ellie, you need to tell us where she is. You need to tell us what happened to her.”

Ellie felt pressure building inside of her, like she would blow up at any moment.

“Ellie—” Malcolm began, desperately.

The pressure exploded, tears spill down Ellie’s face as she screamed, “They killed her!”

After a half-hour of getting Ellie’s story and then calming her down, Dani and Malcolm were in Gil’s office and relaying the bizarre, tragic tale. Judging by the look on his face, he was rather skeptical. “So, let me get this straight,” The superior detective said when they were done, “Three days ago, Ellie’s mom says they have to leave, but won’t say why, but before they can get out the door a mob of kids shows up and starts breaking down the door. Her mom then gives her the address of someone the girl’s never heard of before and a gun before pushing her out the back saying she’ll hold them off, then two of them show up at the bus stop, corner Ellie and tell her they killed her Mom before she’s somehow able to get away? And her best explanation for her missing doppelganger is separated at birth twins?” He paused then said, “You two do realize how crazy that stounds, right?”

Dani began to speak. “I know it seems far-fetched boss, but while Bright was calming her down, I made a few calls, Syracuse PD did a well-fair check on a Dr. Naomi Stone, a teacher at a local community college, after she missed all her classes and never called in, found her dead and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth Stone missing. According to friends of the victim, she goes by Ellie. They’re emailing us all the information as we speak.”

Gil’s eyes widened in surprised. “Elizabeth? This kid has the same first name as our missing girl?” What in the heck was happening here?

“I don’t know, boss.” Dani admitted wearily.

“Ellie had an interesting theory.” Malcolm spoke up, “We could be dealing with some kind of twin study. A study conducted on –well, on twins, both identical and fraternal, examining the importance of genetic and environments on traits, disorders, basically nature versus nurture. They’re actually pretty important tools in many fields. Contrary to popular belief, TRA, Twins Reared Apart, the kind Ellie was referring to, were actually quite rare, only six published studies, and it’s unlikely someone would try this type now, for ethic issues alone, but it wouldn’t be the first time a bunch of scientists went rouge.”

“It also wouldn’t be the first time an adoption agency went rouge, pulled some funny business with the kids.” Dani pointed out, throwing out a somewhat alternate theory, “Ellie said it was closed adoption.”

“So, your theory is bunch of kids somehow found out they were part of a shady science experiment and were so incensed they killed their parents and anyone else involved?” Gil recapped, clearly having his doubts about this theory.

“I know it’s out there, but it wouldn’t be the weirdest case we’ve ever had.” Malcolm pointed out.

Seeing Malcolm had a point, Gil said, “Alright, start looking into the Hallys, see if Elizabeth—the first one—was adopted, and look into Naomi Stone, too, see if they have any other connection then their children. Also, seeing as you already started, find this D. McNab, maybe they can shine some light on whatever’s going on here. After you left, we played the answering machine, found a message from a Dr. Goodwin, TJ’s talking to him. I’ll call CPS see if they can locate Dr. Stone’s next of kin, and let us fingerprint her just to rule her out.” Even if the two Elizabeths were identical twins, they would have different fingerprints.

The words Malcolm wanted to say were in his throat, but they stuck there, unable to come after his mouth.

Gil realized he wanted to say something. “What is it?”

“Can’t she just stay with me?” Malcolm requested, “She’s trusts me, really I’m the only one’s she’s comfortable with right now…”

“Bright you have no connection to this girl that gives you a legal right to her.” Gil cut him off, “Until someone can be found, unfortunately Ellie is a ward of the state. “After a moment, he added, “But maybe you should talk with her.” If by some miracle the girl’s story on the level, she had already lost her mom, been attacked herself multiple times, all in the space of four days. Being ripped away from her friend was only going to add to the trauma. Malcolm could at least prepare her. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” Malcolm breathed before heading for the door.

Malcolm shuffled his feet a little bit as he headed for the breakroom where he left Ellie. He didn’t want to be the one to do this. To tell her that after everything she had already been through, as bizarre her story was, he was certain she was telling the truth, that she was about to spirited to a stranger’s home to wait for an uncertain fate. Would social services let her keep Ginger? He didn’t think to ask. Why didn’t he think to ask?

Unable to stall any longer he peaked inside the breakroom only to find it empty. His heart leaping into his throat, he first ran into the break room, his head looking every which-way. That was when he saw the black leather journal on the ground. He had almost forgot about it.

Picking it up his he ran out of the room and stopped the first officer he saw, “Excuse me, have you a teenage girl, about yea high, brown hair….”

“Nope, sorry.” The officer said, walking off.

Malcolm began turning around franticly. Where did she go?! Suddenly, someone brushed his from behind, knocking the journal out of his hands and opened onto the floor. Malcolm barely registered an apology thrown his way as he picked up the book and started to read in spite of himself:

_January 15th, 2003. With the procurement of the sampled from Whitley, one of our few living candidates, we finally have them all, our little rouges gallery : Theodore Bundy , Elizabeth Bathory, Vera Renczi, Amy Archer-Gillgan, Jeffery Dahmer, Richard Ramirez, Delphine LaLaurie, Albert DeSalvo, Ed Gein, John Wayne Gacy, Honora Kelley, better known as Jane Toppan, Waneta Hoyt, Myra Hindley, Albert Fish, Ian Brady, David Berkewitz, Mary Anne Cotton, Martin Whitley._

Malcolm was confused, disturbed, and oddly intrigued by what he was reading. _Why would Dr. Stone be listing serial killers? What does she mean by rouges gallery?_ While it hadn’t escaped his attention, his father was on the list, he was more focused in on another name:

_Elizabeth Bathory._ The very killer Ellie had asked about the night before.

He kept reading. _As I’ve already written, with time of the essence, we started the process of somatic cell nuclear transfer. Today, we implemented the first zygote, a genetic copy of Theodore Bundy, into a surrogate…_

Malcolm froze. Did he read what he just thought he read? He shook his head. He couldn’t have. He read the line over again, then what came next:

_One of the worst humanity has to offer, reborn._

Suddenly Ellie’s question from last night echoed in his mind. _So, if say, hypothetically,_ _if someone were to like, make genetic copy of Elizabeth Bathory would she—would she be a sadist? Would she—would she turn out like Bathory?_

A sick feeling crept through Malcolm as he realized why she asked a question he had through so strange as the time….

Because Ellie _was a_ human genetic copy. A genetic copy of Elizabeth Bathory.


	3. Run Through The (Concrete) Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the cloning revelation, Malcolm searches for Ellie while JT witnesses a strange family drama.

Pratically the moment he thought it, Malcolm shook his head. No, it was insane. It was the stuff of bad sci-fi novels. And why serial killers? Human cloning wasn’t unethical enough?! This woman had to be out of her mind, suffering from some kind of delusion. But… these weren’t the writings of an insane person. They were ordered, meticulous, even. Except for some technical jargon he couldn’t understand, but that could just be because he wasn’t geneticist. That’s what Dani said she taught right, genetics? He kept reading.

_Ideally, we’ll have forty subjects, two of each clone, one for a control group, and one for an experimental group brought up in an abusive environment, and in a somewhat lest conventional move, four extra clones from the most viable candidates, raised self-aware…._

Malcolm’s blood went cold again and a light went off in his mind at the same time. Of course! Finding out their whole lives were experiments, not to mentioned the one that had been abused, and the ones who spent their lives being told they were genetic copies of serial killers….at least some of them wanted revenge. Some of them may even be trying to emulate their originals…

_However, many of our choices are long-shots. Aside from the great deal of difficulty we had procuring the little sample we have, aged cells have shortened telomeres compared to new ones, meaning a lower replication rate. In addition to this, DNA is unstable and stays only mostly intact when one is alive. We have samples from subjects that have been dead for decades, sometimes centuries…_

Malcolm’s head felt like it was swimming. He began flipping through the book at random.

_She’s dead. Elizabeth 1 died at 6: 30 this morning, August 3rd, 2003. Her little lungs were just too weak. As we speak Dr. Goodwin and the rest of the team are preparing the sample. We will try again._

Malcolm’s heart dropped. They had at least one that died. They had failed attempts that cost lives and they kept going. He took a chunk of pages and flipped.

_September 20th, 2005,_

Doing the math in his head, Malcolm realized this was the year Ellie was born. He kept reading.

_I took her home today. So far, she seems to be adjusting to her environment well. Very curious, very noisy. Also, very sweet. Only God is able to tell her apart from any other child…_

While he was too absorbed in what he was going to notice, Dani came fast walking up to him. “Bright, you need to see…. what’s that? Where’s Ellie?”

That was when it hit him. Ellie was still missing. And there were a mob of serial killer clones who had four kills under their belt on the loose, possibly looking for her. “Dear God.” He breathed, before turning to Dani, wide-eyed, frantic, “I don’t have time to explain, but Ellie’s in danger. And we have never worked weirder case then this.” He pushed the journal into her hands, “Show this to Gil, it will explain everything. I have to go find her.” Then he sprinted down the way.

“Wait, what?” Dani balked, before calling after him, “Bright? Bright!”

Meanwhile, Ellie was slowly walking down the street, her hood up, eyes darting around. They could be anywhere. And so now could the cops.

Once the pain and panic subsided, Ellie knew she had to run. They were too close and if they figured it out, they would stop being nice. And they’d be in harm’s way. She knew what these things were capable of and even if he hated her now, she didn’t want them to hurt Malcolm or anyone else. S

he walked past a news stand with radio on top that was blaring Creedence Clearwater. _“Whoa it was a nightmare. Lord it was so true. They told me don’t go walking so. The Devil’s on the loose…”_

The first thing she needed to do was get her gun back. First, she had to trace her steps back to Malcolm’s apartment. Somehow. Then she would have to get in, which mean probably breaking in since she didn’t have a key. It was on the second floor, but this was New York, so there had to be a fire escape to climb up, right? Then she could break a window and leave some cash to pay him for it.

After that, she didn’t know what she was going to do. And it terrified her.

_“Better run through the jungle. Better run through the jungle….”_

Meanwhile, JT was in Dr. Goodwin’s backyard, but instead of finding the man himself, as he had been told, was a teenage girl with long blonde hair, roots growing in brown, dressed all in black, standing in front of some kind of enclosure.

“Excuse me?” JT called out, surprised.

The girl whirled around, and it was obvious she had been crying.

“You alright, Miss?” JT asked, concerned, “Do you need help?”

Before she could answer a man’s, voice said from behind them, “My young friend Myra here just received some very disturbing news. It upset her… more than I had anticipated.”

JT whirled around to find a man in a suit with slick back sliver hair. “Charles Goodwin?” The detective asked, flashing his badge, “Detective Tramell, NYPD.” He flashed his badge, “Your housekeeper let me around back. If you have a moment, I need to speak with you about Lewis and Whitney Halley.”

Dr. Goodwin called out to the housekeeper in question. “Iris, while you take Myra inside, please”

Suddenly the girl, Myra, looked like she was about to cry, shaking her head and saying, “Don’t call me that. Please, don’t call me that.”

That was when an older woman with thick black curls pulled back into a bun ran over, taking the girl. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just come with me, love.”

Myra did as she was bid, leaving JT and Dr. Goodwin alone. Alarms bells going off, TJ demanded, “Care to explain who Myra is? And what that was all about?”

“The daughter of a college at the Dedalus Center.” Dr. Goodwin explained, “The thinktank I head up. She’s staying with me for a few days, and well….do you a teenage daughter detective?”

“No.” JT admitted.

“You’ll find they can be quite irrational creatures.” Dr. Goodwin told him, “Now, you said you wanted to talk about the Halleys.”

Deciding to table what was going on for now, JT said, “I regret to inform you that the Halleys and their son were found dead this morning.”

Dr. Goodwin stiffened, but otherwise showed no emotion. “I see. And their daughter?”

_Yep. Something weird’s going on here._ JT thought. “She’s missing. Now, we found a message from you on their machine---”

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Goodwin cut him off, “I have given them a recommendation for a program to send their daughter to. She’s been having behavioral problems, deeply troubled girl. “

_Might have something to do with her brother beating her to bloody pulp on a near daily basis_. JT thought. After some further research, that assault charge against Connor was over him beating his sister and she had just got out a 24 hour hold for breaking all the windows in the family car. She had told arresting officers she wanted to get arrested to get away. “Dr. Goodwin, other than behavioral program recommendations, what was your relationship to the victims?”

“As I already motioned, I head up a local think tank, the Dedalus Center.” Dr. Goodwin explained, “They were part of an on-going study, or rather Elizabeth was. She’s one of the youngest cases of COPD I’ve ever seen.”

“COPD?” JT repeated, taking a few notes. Wasn’t that something smokers usually came down with? And at an older age?

“Yes, quite the pity.” Dr. Goodwin lamented, “Other that she would be rather good stock.”

Trying to brush off odd comment, JT got to the point. “So, you only knew them in a professional compacity?”

“Yes.” Dr. Goodwin confirmed, “Sorry, I don’t know that much about their personal lives. I have no more to tell you, and as you can see, I have my hands full at the moment, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

That was when a creature came into view in the pin the girl had been looking at. It was about the size of a German Shepard, but it was no dog. It was tan, with a long thing tale and most strikingly, stripes running across the lower half of its back in tail.

JT’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that Tasmanian Tiger?”

The man glanced back at the creature. “Yes, my youngest Cole, thought it might cheer Myra up to see it.”

“Aren’t those supposed to be in, well, Tasmanian?” JT continued, “And, you know, _extinct_?”

Dr. Goodwin shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, the Dedalus Center has been one of serval groups trying to bring them back by cloning.”

JT tilted his head, thoroughly impressed, but having an obvious question. “And this hasn’t been all over the news, why?”

“It’s a fairly recent development, we’re trying to keep them under wraps until they survive at least a year.” Dr. Goodwin answered before pulling a card out of his waistcoat and handing it to JT, “And now that you know you’re likely be hearing from our attorneys to sign a non-disclosure agreement. And if anyone remembers anything that can help your investigation, or course.”

JT took the card. “Could I talk to Myra a moment?”

“She wouldn’t know anything, I assure you.” Dr. Goodwin told him, “She wouldn’t know the Halleys from Adam.”

“Still, I need to speak with her.” JT insisted.

Meanwhile, Ellie peered outside the window of the cab. It had taken forever, but she finally found a cab driver who was willing to work with her lack of knowledge of the city. “Pull over here.” Ellie requested, spotting Malcolm’s apartment and pointing to it. The cab pulled over and she pulled money out of her jacket and began counting it out. “Thanks.” She said, handing it to him, “Keep the change.

With that, she stepped out of the cab, pulling up her hood. Gripping the straps of the carrier as the cab sped off, Ellie stared at the building and taking a deep breath. How was she going to get in there? She began to step off to side, hopping to find a fire escape.

“Looking for a way in?”

Ellie whirled around to see Malcolm standing a few inches away on the side walk.

“I thought you might come back for the gun.” Malcolm explained. “

Bright,” Ellie began, her face burning red, panicked and embarrassed and guilty at the same time, “I can explain….”

“You don’t have to.” Malcolm cut her off, “You accidently left your mom’s journal behind.”

Ellie winched, her heart pounding, expecting any moment for a SWAT team to come down on her, falling to the ground, lying flat

. Realizing what was going on Malcolm told her, “Ellie, I’m alone. No one’s going to arrest you. While human cloning is illegal, _being_ a clone isn’t.” He reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

Ellie peaked up, then taking Malcolm’s hand, sat herself upright on the sidewalk. “You’re not afraid of me?” She asked as Malcolm joined her, “That I’ll—hurt you?”

Malcolm had to bite back a laugh. “Am I afraid the ninety pounds fifteen-year-old girl is going to hurt me?”

Ellie turned away. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Malcom admitted.”

Ellie turned her head to look at Malcolm. “Bathory ---she killed at least thirty people. She may have killed hundreds of girls. She tortured them. Just ‘cause she liked it. And that girl you showed me, what she did…. what’s to stop me from turning into them? “

“Alright, first off, we don’t know for sure Elizabeth Halley actually killed anyone.” Malcolm told her, “I mean, if she was in the experimental group, she certainly has motive.” After a beat, he asked, “You read about the layout of this—this experiment they were trying to do?”

“Yeah, I read about that part.” Ellie confirmed, “For the record, I’m pretty sure I was in the control the control group.” Even if it was all just part of someone’s twisted mad science experiment, up until now she had, had a reasonably non-harrowing childhood, apart from her lung problems. Nothing she could call abuse. In fact, while all her friends where having problems with their parents, she and her mom had been closer than ever.

“And even if it turns out she was involved, you’re not Elizabeth Halley.” Malcolm told her, “And you’re not Elizabeth Bathory.”

“But they’re my sisters.” Ellie insisted, “My _twin_ sisters. We’re both Bathory’s exact copy. They’re exactly like me right down to the DNA.” She lowered her head. Just hearing out loud made everything feel so hopeless. Like there was no way around what she was destined to become.

Malcolm reached out gently put a hand under her chin, lifting it up. “Ellie, I need you to look at me, okay? “He took a minute to form what he was going to say. Suddenly, something he said, what felt like ages ago now, came to his mind. “Ellie, no one is born broken, someone breaks us. Now, I can’t even begin to understand parts of what you’re going through, but I know what it likes to have everything you thought you knew be ripped out from under you and your world thrown into turmoil so that nothing is ever the same again. And I know what it’s like to be scared….to be scared that darkness could be inside you. I’m not getting into detail right now but my father is an evil man who’s done horrific things. It’s one of the reasons I became a profiler. And all my life, people assumed or at least worried I was like him, or going to become like him. I literally have a whole speech scripted about how I’m not him that I have given many times, including to the people I work with now. But even I was terrified that—that I could turn into him. Still am, in the back of my mind, actually. But I’m not like him.” He cupped her cheek, “And you’re not like Bathory. I know it.”

Ellie was silent for a long moment. “I also know that one speech isn’t going to convince you.” Malcolm sighed. However, an idea was starting to form in his mind. “Come on, we have to get back to the station. “He continued, standing up with Ellie, when suddenly he lost his balance, letting go of Ellie as he fell to the sidewalk, hard.

Or at least that how is seemed.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright?!” Ellie explained, immediately crouching down and trying to help the man to his feet, simultaneously looking him over for wounds, “Are you hurt? Did you…” That was when she saw Malcolm was grinning. “Why are you smiling?”

“See?” Malcolm grinned, “Not a sadist. That…that was genuine concern you just showed.”

Ellie felt anger welling up inside her, going as far as to punch Malcolm in the shoulder while exclaiming, “You jerk! I seriously thought…”

“That I was hurt?” Malcolm cut her off, “And you went to check on me like a normal, moral, non-mouth stitching person would.”

Ellie was silent for a moment, still not convinced, but there was glimmer of hope welling up inside her.

“Now, come on.” Malcolm requested taking her by the arm, “We really do need to get back to the station. You’re still in danger, and there’s still a bunch of teenage murderers on the loose, even if the second Elizabeth isn’t among them.

” Back at Goodwin’s house, JT as standing in the doorway of a living room full of stiff dark leather furniture, where Myra was pacing when she saw him, stopping. “Detective?” She asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Goodwin gave me permission to talk to you in private.” JT explained before looking back, just to make sure they weren’t being spied on. Lowering his voice, he got to the point. “Are you in some kind of trouble here?”

“No.” Myra insisted, “No, I was just—overwhelmed earlier. But my uncle—he’s great. He’s really great.” J

T had to admit, Myra had a good poker face, except for one thing. “Uncle? It was my understanding that Dr. Goodwin worked with your parents.”

“Yeah, it’s –it’s an honorary thing.” Myra covered, “You know, when you think of him like an uncle but he’s not really your uncle, just a family friend.”

JT had to admit, she almost had him convinced. Almost. “Listen, Myra---"

“Please, don’t call me that.” Myra requested brusquely.

In spite of hearing what the girl had said earlier, how quick she was on the draw took the detective aback. “Okay, what would you like me to call you then?”

“How about Beatrice?”

They both turned their heads to see a young man who appeared to be the same age as Myra, average height, with neat cut dark brown hair walking down the stairway. “You know, like ‘Rappaccini’s Daughter’.”

“Who’s daughter?” Myra asked, confused, looking almost scared as the boy descended the stairs and began to approach.

“It’s a short story, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. “The boy explained, approaching her, “It’s about this guy who moves next door to this mad scientist and falls in love his daughter. Only, the scientist has made her body poisonous through experiments with these poisonous flowers.” He stopped a few feet away from Myra, “Seems appropriate, don’t you think?”

Myra nodded as JT cleared his throat to this the teens’ attention. “Excuse me, young man. And you are?”

“Martin.” Dr. Goodwin said, stepping into the room, “My oldest son.”

“I’ve been away.” Martin said, stepping towards his father and way that made JT place a hand on his holster, “But the prodigal son has returned.” He stopped just in front of his father, “ And now I’m ready to be the obedient one.”

Dr. Goodwin nodded knowingly. “Detective Tramell, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

_What just happened?_ JT thought as the housekeeper let him out. He felt extremely unnerved and confused by the interactions he just had, like he had just watched some sort of soap opera that forgot to lay out the back story. And there was definitely going on with the girl. Something not good. Taking out his phone as he walked to the car, he called Gil. “I don’t know how, but we need to get a warrant for Charles’ Goodwin’s house. There’s something weird going on.”

“You’re telling me.” Gil said on the other line, “You need to get back here now. Either Bright’s lost his mind, or we’re in way over our heads.” 


	4. The Boys (And Girls) From Brazil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the team digs deeper into the conspiracy, they encounter more clones, these more dangerous. Ellie continues to struggle with all the recent revelations. Meanwhile, Marty and his people make their move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Warning: Discussion of eugenics in some detail. Vomit-inducing views of characters do NOT reflect the views of the author.

“The first thing we need to do is round up those--- Juvenile psychopaths.” Dr. Goodwin was saying, pouring a class of brown liquid from crystal decanter Marty had brought in for the kitchen.

“Actually, they’re not all psychopaths.” Marty corrected his father, watching him pour another glass,” Some are sadists, masochists, sociopaths, I think a couple might even qualify as depraved hearts---”

“You know what I mean, Martin.” Dr. Goodwin snapped, putting the stopper back in the decanter.

“Well, don’t look at me.” Marty responded, “I left that bloody caravan in Boston, headed straight here.” He saw his father hand the second glass to him. “Seriously?”

“I always found the American stance on the drinking age a bit— antiquated.” Dr. Goodwin responded, “Besides, must live while you can.”

Marty took the glass, knowing that this had nothing to do with how short his life was going to be. His father wanted to make sure he hadn’t drugged it. He took the glass and took a small, then made a face as he swallowed. “Ga, how do you drink this stuff?”

“You get use to it.” Dr. Goodwin told him taking a larger sip himself. “We know they’re in New York, the Halleys have just been murdered, that’s what our friend Detective Tarmell was here about. I’ve called in some favors, we got PIs looking into him, make sure he won’t be a problem. Also, Dr. Stone has been murdered.”

Marty’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at the glass. “Ell—Elizabeth One?”

“Nowhere to be found.” Dr. Goodwin lamented in a coldly frustrated tone, picking up his drink and looking at the wall, “We can only assume she’s joined the bloody caravan, as you put it. So far it appears they’ve killed anyone who hasn’t agreed."

Marty knew that couldn’t be true. His Ellie wasn’t a killer. “Sir, respectfully, Elizabeth One hasn’t shown any sign of violent behavior, no socially unexpectable tendencies, mental or social disorders—”

“Yes, and neither did Elizabeth Two until she broke out all the windows in the van.” Dr. Goodwin pointed out, turning away from his son as he put the glass up to his lips, muttering to himself, “Maybe we should’ve listened to Dennison about the brother.”

Just then a little voice from behind them asked, “Marty?”

They turned around and saw a dark-haired little boy about six standing in the doorway, wide-eyed.

“Cole, what did I tell you?” Dr. Goodwin snapped at him coldly.

“Let me handle it, Sir.” Marty volunteered, going to the doorway and leading him away, “Come on buddy.”

“Perfect, timing.” Marty told his brother as they ducked into the boy’s room, “You got the salt?”

Cole pulled out a can of iodized salt from under his bed.

“Good job, buddy.” Marty whispered, taking the can and running into a half bath off of the side of the room. Taking a paper cup from the counter, he poured salt into it and began to fill the cup with water, “Do you know where Beatrice is?” He drunk the homemade salt water.

“Who?” Cole responded.

When he didn’t become sick, Marty began to make another concoction. “That’s ah, the name of the girl they brought over.” He down the water again, starting to feel something.

“I thought her name was Myra.” Cole responded, confused.

Marty braced himself clutching the counter. “Well, ah, long story short, she didn’t like that name, so we’re giving her a new one. “

“I don’t think you can just do that.” Cole told him.

“Yeah, well, she didn’t seem to mind.” Marty commented, before vile started to come up his throat he opened his mouth and clear vomit began to come out of his mouth into the sink. “I need you to go---find her and bring her out here.”

As Marty vomited the contents of his stomach out into the sink, Cole went and found Beatrice, formerly known as Myra, and brought the bewildered girl back in to his room. “Marty?” She questioned when she saw him there, “What’s going on?”

“I promise, I’ll explain everything, right now, I need to go make sure my father’s not getting too suspicious.” He crouched down his brother level, “Cole, get your coat, grab anything you can’t live without—but pack light.” With that he ran.

When he got back to the study Marty found his father slumped into his chair in a state of semi-consciousness. _That didn’t take as long as I thought._ Marty mused to himself, running over and lifting the man up best you could.

“You—” Dr. Goodwin slurred.

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Marty cut him off, dragging him out of the room and down the hall to the closet. Thrusting the door open, he tossed Dr. Goodwin inside, slamming it and taking chair from the nearest room to barricade it.

Grabbing a tan satchel from his room, Mary ran back into the study a started grabbing files, only taking a moment to peak to make sure they were the right ones. When got all he needed, he rushed back to Cole’s room, when the little boy, now in a long yellow coat, and a very confused Beatrice were waiting. “Alright, you two ready to go?”

“Ready.” Cole confirmed, standing up.

“Go where?” Beatrice demanded as Marty took them both by the hand and dragged them down the hall.

“Keep your voices down.” Marty whispered, pulling them both down the hall, “You didn’t really buy that contrite, obedient son routine, did you?”

“Yes.” Beatrice hissed as they headed for the stairs.

“Come on, I have friends waiting outside.” Marty told them as they ran down the stairs,” We’ll get somewhere safe and then we’ll work out a plan.”

“What plan?” Beatrice demanded as they rushed through the living room.

“Can you talk any louder?” Marty snapped, “Beatrice, this here? What Dr. Goodwin’s going to do to you? To every one of us who hasn’t even done anything? It isn’t right.”

They finally got to the kitchen. “But you heard what your dad said. We’re too dangerous. It’s in our blood---”

He whirled around. “Dr. Goodwin is eugenics obsessed mad scientist who could care less about collateral damage and is only looking to cover his own---” He looked over and saw the little boy, “Behind.”

Beatrice tore her wrist from Marty’s hand, stepping back. “When he was telling me about my original, he played me these tapes. There was a little girl---”

Marty rubbed his forehead. “Cole, sneak out the back. There’s a gray van waiting, there’s a boy and a lady in there, Fern and Richie. They’re good people, though Rich is a little preachy. Tell them if I’m not out in five minutes to go.”

“But—” Cole began.

“Go. “Marty ordered, then crouching down added, “I love you.”

Cole ran off and Marty stood, turning again to Beatrice. “Look Bea—” His voice trailed off as he looked at her.

Beatrice seemed to calm down for a moment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry it’s just---” Marty began, “You look so much like her.”

“Like Hindley.” Beatrice responded, sad and certain.

“No.” Marty began, “Well, I suppose you must, when she was your age, but—” His voice trailed off again, then he found his words. “Look, just because you have an evil twin—a couple of evil twins, actually—doesn’t mean you’re evil too. In fact, the fact that you’re willing to die for---it shows you’re not like Hindley at all.”

Beatrice stepped back. “I can’t take that chance. I’d rather---I’d rather die a thousand times then do what was done to me. I’m sorry, Marty. I can’t go with you.”

“You—I---” Marty began, his mind racing. He couldn’t just leave her here. But he had Cole to think about. “Alright, stay here and die for all I care! Just give me and Cole five minutes head start at least. Please. I don’t want my brother to see any more of this.”

Beatrice was quiet for a minute, considering the request. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Marty breathed, running out the door. Going off to the side, he peaked in, just enough to see what Beatrice was doing.

Beatrice turned her upper body, trying to figure out what she do, when suddenly she found herself being lifted off the ground, someone’s arm around her throat, unable to breath. Panicking, she kicked at the air, scratching at her attacker and trying to remove the arm from her throat.

“It’s okay, it’s just gonna be twenty seconds, just enough to knock your knock you out.” Marty told her urgently, then realizing that didn’t help, added, “Sorry that sounded more reassuring in my head.” Beatrice’s vision faded to black and she went limp as she lost consciousness. Marty let go and carefully moved the girl into his arms, fireman style, and ran out the door again.

Malcolm and Ellie arrived at the station last, where Gil started towards them, holding the journal.

“Ellie, wait for me at my desk. And stay there, this time.”

Ellie didn’t have to be told twice, hurrying away just as Gil reached the profiler. “Please tell me this is some kind of joke.” The older man requested.

“I wish it was.” Malcolm admitted.

And so, the ream gathered and Malcolm explained what was going on as best he could.

“Clones of serial killers?” Gil repeated when he was done, “You’re serious?”

“You read the journal.” Malcolm responded, “You did the read the journal, right?”

“Yes, we all read the journal.” Gil said, “What we could understand of it. And you really think---”

“Believe it or not, I actually, do.” Malcolm insisted, “This is way too orderly and logical to be the rantings of an insane person. “

“Well, with what Dani and JT found, it might actually explain a few things.” Gil admitted.

Dani took over from there. “Syracuse PD found out that before Dr. Stone taught collage courses, she worked with the Dedalus Center. Still did some consulting for them. And she’s not the only one to turn up dead with ties to the Dedalus Center. In fact, there have been at least nine murders with ties to the Dedalus Center down the coast in the last week. Three couples, one single man, one single woman, all of them had teenagers, all adopted, all missing, except for Eddie Patterson who was found dead with his parents. His death was so brutal responding officers said his body barely looked human and they had to use dental records to identify him. That’s not all. According to records, the Halleys have been receiving payments from a shell company within a shell company within another shell company, for the last fifteen years. We’re trying to find out who the actual source is, but with what we know now, it’s not exactly a leap to say it’s the Dedalus Center.”

“And it’s probably not for some COPD study.” JT added in.

Suddenly Gil and Dani remembered. “Bright, when Ellie was coughing earlier---” Gil began.

“Bright, you mentioned Ellie telling you about _lung problems_ when she was a kid.” Dani added.

“After she knew I knew I was able to get a little more out of Ellie.” Malcolm responded, “We need to look for a Dr. Atkinson, she doesn’t remember his first name. Her mom took her to him when she was nine, they did a treatment, and her lung problems stopped until a few days ago. What do you think the odds are he tied in with Dedalus? And she may not be the only one with lung problems. With the clone thing out in the open, she told me more about the attack. Seven to nine attackers, she wasn’t exactly staying to count, but two of them went after her and the only reason she got away is one of them fell to the ground and started coughing.”

“DNA is only stable when a person’s alive.” Edrisa spoke up, “And the storage process degrades it more. It’s a wonder they were even able to pull this off at all, the degradation could’ve lead to—who knows what in the way of medical problems, and cloned animals have presented with lung problems. I did some research after seeing the journal. In 09 an attempted to revive the Pyrenean Ibex even died because of lung problems it had. In that Ibex only went extent in 2000. Some of these killers died in the 70s, 60s---”   
“So we could a lot of sick kids on our hands.” Gil cut her off.

“Basically.” Edrisa confirmed.

A knot began to form in Malcolm’s stomach. “Is it survivable?”

Realizing what Malcolm was getting at it. Edrisa spoke as plainly as she could. “I honestly don’t know. I would more, I would actually need to look at the subjects, I would need more then just random lung problems—”

Malcom rubbed his face wearily. Ellie could be dying for all they knew. They needed to get her to a doctor, but what could they say? Can you please cure her of a mysterious clone disease?

“Not to sound callous, but Ellie seems healthy enough that we have more urgent problems.” Gil cut in, “We have an unknown numbers of killers with kills already in the double digits and 39 suspects. We need to narrow that list down and find them before anyone else dies."

“Two of them tracked Ellie down to the to the bus station.” Malcolm spoke up, “ The girl taunted her about Ginger, her cat, saying torturing and killing a cat is what landed her Saint Dymphna’s. Could just be a random behavioral clinic—”

“But it gives us an idea who we might be looking for.” Gil interjected. With up to forty suspects, they had to narrow down the list somehow.

“The Tasmanian Tiger King said he was recommending a behavioral center for Elizabeth.” JT spoke up, “Could be once they do something---well, violent, they had some kind of holding facility until---they did whatever they were going to do.” After a beat he added, “What exactly is the purpose of this experiment exactly?”

“I didn’t see anything in the journal that would give a reason for all this, though I only read a little bit before I went to look for Ellie.” Malcolm explained, “Did you guys read any further---wait, Tasmanian Tiger?” And with that, JT recapped with bizarre encounter at Dr. Goodwin’s, officially filling the profiler on everything that had happened while he was gone. “Alright, going off the list, the girl you met was cloned from Myra Hindley.” Malcolm explained, “She and her boyfriend, Ian Brady, also on the list, were responsible for the Moor Murders, a series of five murders in the UK in the 1960s. Brady was diagnosed as a psychopath and both of them were incredibly sadistic. All the victims were children aged 10 through 17, at least four of them were sexually assaulted. Assuming she wasn’t self-aware and doesn’t have her original’s sadistic and violent tendencies, it’s reasonable to believe she would be horrified, not to mention devastated, confused, scared, everything Ellie was when she read her mom’s journal.” He peaked out to where he had told Ellie to go.

Ellie stat at the desk, peering into Gil’s office and trying read the lips or see anything that would help her determine what they were saying. What the plan was. If there even was a plan. Too bad she couldn’t actually read lips.

She got why they didn’t want her in there. They were the cops. They were the professionals and so far, her big plans hadn’t turned out so great. But she was tired of getting blindsided, tired of not knowing what was going on, tired of all these questions, and wanted some answers.

“As for Martin Goodwin, well—I think he all know who his original is.” Malcolm was saying in the office, “On the way here, Ellie told me that her mom took her to some kind of meeting with Dr. Goodwin when she was a kid, his son was there. He told Ellie he didn’t actually have a father and called her nobility. Considering Dr. Whitely is one of the few live specimen samples, it’s not a great leap to assume that made an extra self-aware one of him. Between what JT saw and what Ellie told me, I think Martin Goodwin might be that clone.” He looked down at the files on the murder spree, “They’re going after members of Dedalus or people connected to it, namely the adoptive parents of clones in this project. Charles Goodwin is the head of the center and raising one of the clones. If he’s not the next target, he’s definitely on the list. They’re not going to leave the city until they’ve killed him. “

Everything was quiet for a moment, the Dani asked what everyone was thinking. “So, where do we go from here?”

Gil honestly wasn’t sure himself. As much as he wanted to say just work it like a regular case, this was most definitely _not_ a regular case in any sense of the term. “First off, none of what we’ve talked about leaves this room. We don’t know how deep this thing goes, or even for sure what this thing is, and if word of a mob of serial clones, not a phrase I’d ever thought I’d have to use, gets out, it could cause mass panic. Dani, did you ever get a lead on D. Macnab?” He figured it was safe bet that whoever they were, they were involved.

“Doretha Macnab.” Dani told him, “Couldn’t find if she ever worked for Dedalus, but she’s biologist.”

“Alright, take Bright, go see what she knows.” Gil instructed, “JT, you and I will stake out Goodwin’s place in case of the kids show up. Somehow we also need to find the other families with cloned children. If they’re targets, we need to get them protection. Somehow. “

“Ah, I know it’s not normally my area, but I could handle it.” Edris volunteered.

“I think I’ll take you up on that.” Gil responded, “But first, I’m going to need you to take some samples from Ellie. We might need to do a DNA test with Bathory’s remains—if that’s even possible—to prove we’re not all insane.” He honestly wasn’t sure how they would get over a hundred year old countess remains, let alone if it would be in any state to be tested but right now it was the best we got.

Malcolm wasn’t too sure about that plan. “Gil---”

“I know, she just found out she’s spent her whole life’s someone’s experiment.” Gil cut him off, knowing what he was about to say, “And I don’t want to treat her like one. But we need proof. And she still needs to be ruled out in the Halley homicide.”

That was when it occurred to Malcolm. “Edrisa, I know you normally don’t work on live patients, but Ellie could be really sick for we all know and it’s not like we can take her to a doctor. Are you okay with looking at her lungs while you’re at it? I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Are you kidding?!” Edrisa beamed, “Yeah.” Normally she wouldn’t have been thrilled with the situation, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Ellie watched and the team stepped out of the office, Malcolm and an Asian woman with her hair cut in a bob walking towards her. “So, what did they say?” Ellie asked, standing up, “What’s the plan?”

“Dani found a name.” Malcolm told her, “Doretha McNab. That name ring any bells? Your mom ever mention a Doretha?”

“No.” Ellie answered, shaking her head, “No one by that name.” She looked down, shifting, embarrassed.

“It’s alright, that’s not on you.” Malcolm assured her, “Hopefully me and Dani will have better luck.”

“What about me?” Ellie asked, “I’m coming with you, right?"

“Ellie, we don’t know what we’re walking into.” Malcolm reasoned, “The mob’s still out there, if Doretha’s part of the project, she could be a target, or she could be dangerous herself.”

“I can handle myself.” Ellie protested, “You saw me with that guy. Come on, I won’t be in the way, I promise.”

Malcolm glanced up at the ceiling before looking back at the teenager. “Ellie, you’re still a civilian. And a minor. We can’t take you into potential danger. Please, just go with it.”

Ellie sighed, “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Malcolm replied, “But there is something you can do.” He gestured to Edrisa, “This is Dr. Tanaka. We were hopping you’d be okay with a quick examination. Nothing invasive, just a few samples and quick look at your lungs. I know you said they stopped but---we can’t deny something’s going on. I just want to make sure you’re okay, alright?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but sure.” Ellie agreed.

“Thank you.” Malcolm repeated, before pulling the teen into a side embrace, “I promise I’ll be back before you know it, hopefully with some good news.” _Or any news._

“So, you’re the corner?” Ellie asked nervously, sitting on a lab table in forensics as it was all they had to work with, as Edrisa took a blood sample.

“Yes.” Edrisa admitted, removing the needle from Ellie’s arm, “Don’t worry, I have enough knowledge and training for what we’re doing here.” She turned and walked away with the syringe.

“And this is going to prove I’m….” Ellie began, but her voice trailed off, unable to finish.

“It’s not really that simple.” Edrisa said, preparing the blood sample for storage, “First we’re actually going to somehow get a sample from a woman who died walled up in a room in the 1600s, even then the DNA’s probably degraded to the point we can’t use it. Sadly, we may never be able to prove this definitively, at least with you.” She turned around with the sample, “You’re a miracle, you know that?”

Ellie looked down, shifting uncomfortably. That was what her mother use to call her. Her little miracle. She didn’t feel like one. She felt like a sham. A copy. Someone’s experiment.

A time bomb waiting to go off.

Edrisa realized her mistake. “Which is probably the last thing you need to here to right now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ellie told her, not looking up, “I—I get it. You’re doctor. A scientist. No one’s ever cloned a human before. This is kinda a big deal for you.”

“But you’re---you’re not a clone.” Edrisa responded, “Not just a clone. You’re a human being. A person.” After a beat, she changed the subject, “Alright, I’m going to hand this off, and then we need to talk about your lungs.”

Edrisa went outside, handing off the sample to a tec to take to storage, then came back in with a set of doctor tools. “Ellie, what can you tell me about your childhood lung condition?” The corner asked, placing a cap on the flashlight.

“Ah, they never really came up with a name for it.” Ellie admitted, “From what I can remember, it really confused the doctors. The hospitals started to blend together after a while.” She paused a minute, then got to what she knew Edrisa wanted, “What happened was I would randomly have trouble breathing, like my oxygen had been cut off, and—pressure in my chest, like a lot of pressure, like one of those things from _Alien_ was going to burst out of there. That part hasn’t come back. Really, the only thing that’s come back in the coughing. Everyone’s probably overre—” Just then she was cut off as if on cue by a fit of rough, wheezing coughing.

Edrisa cringed in sympathy for the child, waiting for the fit to subside before asking, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ellie got out, “Yeah, I think so.” “Okay, then,” Edrisa responded, raising the light, “I’m just going to look at the inside of your throat. Um, open wide, I guess.”

Ellie obeyed and Edrisa shined the light down into the teen’s throat, eye widening at what she saw. The inside of her lungs was red. Really red. And there were three white patches.

“What is it?” Ellie asked, worried.

Edrisa lowered the light. “I don’t know for sure, looks like it could be some sort of infection.” She answered, before picking up a swab, “Now, I’m going to need to take a few samples.”

Meanwhile, Dani and Malcolm were driving to Doretha’s McNab’s in silence, still processing the situation they found themselves in. At last Dani asked, “Serial killer clones?”

“I know.” Malcolm responded, “I still can’t believe that it’s happening either.”

“I mean, I read the journal, and the information on the other murders, the kids, Ellie and Elizabeth, all the evidence points to this being legit but---- this isn’t a thing that happens.” Dani continued, “This—this isn’t real. Like, I keep expecting to wake up and find that I fell asleep re-watching _Orphan Black_ and this has been some really vivid dream.”

“Well, I would have to be having the exact same dream and I don’t even know what that is.” Malcolm told her.

“It’s a show about clones.” Dani responded, “Kinda of guilty pleasure.”

“Probably should’ve guessed something like that.” Malcolm quipped awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence, then Dani commented, half to Malcolm, half to herself. “At least I guess this makes your job easier. Profile’s already done.”

“No.” Malcolm told her, “No, if anything it makes it harder.”

Dani moved her eyes towards Malcolm, as if silently asking, _How so?_ “Just because they share their DNA, doesn’t make them their originals.” Malcolm began, “Any biological factors, sure, but—it’s called the nature versus nurture debate for a reason. We’re dealing with different histories, different influences. Did Elizabeth Halley cut up and castrate her brother because she shares her original’s sadistic tendencies—and keep in mind sadism is just the most likely theory based on the facts we can pull out of the over three hundred year told telephone game, so, even that’s up debate---or because her brother tortured her on a near daily basis and this was her revenge? Or both? If that was even her, because we could have anywhere between seven to nine preps, Ellie couldn’t give a definitive number. And the killing methods are all over the place.” He began looking through the file of the murders again, “The Burrows were shot point blank in the head, quick, clean. then Kurt Allen was strangled and had half his fingers broken. And compared to how Eddie Patterson died, the way they killed his parents was merciful.” The boy had been stabbed multiple times, stomped, beaten…overkill didn’t seem to cover it. “Granted, the discrepancies could be chalked up to how many then are.” After a beat he added, “Well, there are some things the murders have in common. Some area of the house was ransacked….” It hit him like a ton of bricks. “They don’t know where everyone is.”

Dani almost took her eyes off the road to look at him, it was so sudden. “You mean, the scientists, or….”

“Both.” Malcolm answered, “This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about ‘liberating’ the other clones. If Eddie rejected their offer…they would’ve seen him as a traitor. “

“So, in their mind, they rewarded him as a traitor deserves.” Dani deduced.

“Yes, basically.” Malcolm confirmed, an awful fear creeping up inside him. “If they had caught Ellie, if she wasn’t able to get away….” _That would be her, too_.

Dani could see where this was going. “She did get away, Bright. She got away, and she found you, and we are going to keep her safe.”

Just then they pulled up to their destination, a non-descript looking brownstone. A brownstone with the door kicked opened, falling off what was left of its hinges.

“Bright, my off-duty weapon’s in the glove box.” Dani told him, “Grab it.” _Why haven’t we ever given him a service weapon?!_

Malcolm did as he was told, and they both hurried up to the door, each taking a side and peering in. No one was in the entryway, but now they could now hear noises from upstairs, objects being thrown around and boy’s voice shouting, “There’s nothing here!”

“Bitch must have grabbed the important stuff when she bolted!” A girl’s voice seethed.

Dani nodded to Malcolm, signaling her to following him. The detective taking the lead, they ran up the stairs as quietly as they could turning down the hall and following the sound of the voices, who had suddenly quieted. Taking a similar stance to what they had in the door, glancing in and seeing three teenagers, two boys and a girl, on the floor of what seemed to be some kind of study, papers of covering a blue oriental rug, books and file boxes thrown from shelves, completely ransacked. The trio went still, and the girl said, “We know you’re there.”

The pair turned, guns drawn and raised at the intruders. “NYPD, hands in the air!”

Startled, the group raised their hands. “Alright,” the girl, an averaged height young woman with her brown hair in a boyish pixie cut, began, “We’re cooperating. Nobody does anything rash.”

“On the ground, hands behind your back.” Dani ordered.

The kids did as they were told, the girl’s eyes darting around.

_Something’s not right._ Malcolm thought. These kids were surrounding way too easily. And the way the girl was talking. Like an adult. Like she knew what to do…

That was when he felt something hit him from behind, hard, and falling to the ground.

Dani whirled around and saw a large framed boy with thick black hair standing over Malcolm’s crumpled form with a two by four.

“Drop your weapon!” The detective shouted, pointing her gun at their attacker.

Suddenly, she herself was grabbed from behind in a choke hold, cutting off her air. “Thanks David.” Dani could hear the girl saying as she grabbed onto her attacker, letting her gun fall to the ground. “Theo, Albert, do a sweep of the perimeter, make sure, they didn’t bring any friends, David, go see if the old lady left anything we could use…” Her voice trialed off as Dani managed to pry her hands free enough to throw her over her shoulder. The girl hit the ground with a _thud_ , but looked up at the cop, grinning ear, to ear. “Nice. Looks I underestimated you.”

Semi-conscious, Malcolm slowly edged his way toward his gun, which had fallen in the attack, only to feel a sharp pain in his hand as the girl steeped on it, digging in the heel of the black combat boot she was wearing. “Nice try.” The girl smiled cruelly, quickly picking up the gun and Dani managed to retrieve her own weapon.

“Drop it!” The detective ordered, pointing it at the teen, who in turn pointed hers straight down at Malcolm.

“Or what?” The girl sneered, “You’ll shoot me? You’ll shoot a kid?”

_I think we both know you’re not just some kid._ Dani thought, staring her down. But still, she wasn’t exactly rearing to shoot a girl who couldn’t be more then what? Seventeen? Plus, she wasn’t sure she could get a shot off before the girl shot Malcolm.

As Malcolm pulled, trying to free his hand from downstairs. “Myra! Looks like they came alone!” A Boston accented voice called out. The girl’s eyes darted around the room nervously. _She doesn’t want them in_ _the line of fire. She’s protective of them._ Malcolm though.

“Theo!” The girl, Myra apparently, called down, Albert! Stay down there!”

His mind whirling, Malcolm realized a way to at least thrown their attackers’ off their game. “Theo…Albert….So, Ted Bundy and the Boston Strangler? Or is it Albert Fisk? “ After a beat, he continued, “No, he looks more Desalvo.” He rolled his eyes up to David, who was standing over him, now wide-eyed, “And that makes you David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam. Well, obviously you’re not the actual Son of Sam, just his extremely younger twin brother.”

It worked, Myra was so shocked she looked up to her partner, giving Malcolm to chance to reach out with his free hand and grab her wrist, pushing at her with enough force she stepped off his other hand, and soon they were in a struggle for the gun, which Dani brought to an end by grabbing the girl from behind and pinning her to the ground, pulling out her handcuffs. “David, grab the others and run!” Myra shouted.

Before they could stop him David took off and with Myra secured, Dani and Malcolm took after him, Dani shouting, “Stop!”

“David, you don’t have to keep doing this!” Malcolm called out, “We can end this!”

Coming to the stairway, David actually threw himself over the railing, landing on his feet in front of Theo and Albert.

“Where’s….” Albert, surprisingly not the one with the Boston accent, began.

“Not coming!” David cut him off breathlessly, “Go, go, go!”

The detective and profiler jumped over the rail as well, but it was no use. They were on stepped behind the boys as they rushed out the kitchen to a waiting car with a fourth boy waiting at the wheel as they climbed inside.

“Drive!” David shouted, in command now that Myra was caught.

The car took off in a cloud of dust, Dani trying to shoot out the tires, but it had no effect. The detective let out a frustrated huff, knowing they couldn’t catch them.

At least they got one.

Meanwhile, in the back of a van with no windows in it but the front, Marty and a boy about his age. maybe a bit older with thick black hair were trying to hold down a struggling Beatrice, now conscious and trying to throw herself from the van.

“I said let me go!” Beatrice shouted, trying to hit them.

“Bea, its okay!” The dark-haired tried to tell her, “We’re good clones! Well, not good, per se, only God is good….”

“Maybe Evangelize later, Rich.” Marty spoke up, grabbing Beatrice’s arm.

“Look, the point is, we’re not evil!” Richie tried again, “Well, actually, we are, everybody’s evil…”

“Rich!” Marty snapped, “Save her soul after we keep her body in this vehicle!”

That was when the driver of the van, a young woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in wrinkled clothes, her hair in messy blond bob called back, “He’s means no one in this van has murdered anyone!”

“That doesn’t mean we _won’t_!” Beatrice protested, tears streaming down her face, “It’s only a matter of time!”

Richie looked up at Marty, stunned by what he just heard. “Man, you weren’t kidding about your dad, were you?”

At that time, Ellie stepped out of the building with Ginger on a leash, Edris behind her, but still in the building. “Sorry, I just need a moment.” The teen apologized sheepishly.

“It’s alright.” Edrisa assured her, “I’ll wait right inside if you need anything.”

Ellie managed to sweet talk Edrisa into letting her help with research. So far they hadn’t been able to locate Saint Dymphna’s, or the other families, though they had a few possible names. All they could find on Dedalus was it was think tank specializing in the biological and genetic sciences, which would explain why they were cloning anything. After a little digging, they found a lot of nasty things about Charles Goodwin, though. Apparently, he stirred up a lot of controversy over the years with pro-eugenics papers, including coming out in support of upholding Buck Versus Bell, the court decision that allowed for the compulsory sterilization of inmates of public institutions, and supporting Iceland so -called “cure” for Downs Syndrome. The same “cure” the Nazis used. After looking over a few of the papers, Ellie needed some air.

It so happened that Marty’s party had turned down the street the precinct was on, and Marty was in the process of removing the sliver chain ending in and ivory crucifix off Richie’s neck, as Beatrice was currently trying to strangle the other boy with it. “Take this.” Marty told Cole, who was up front with the driver, handing it to him. That was when he saw a girl on the street, and realizing he recognized her, did a double take. “Fern, slow down.”

Against her better judgement, Fern did, and Marty was able to get a better look. Yes, it was her. It was the girl she had mind gems with all those years ago. The girl he was afraid was dead. “Guys, I think that’s Elizabeth S. “Marty exclaimed excitedly, “Fern, pull over, we need to talk to her.” 

Richie turned to Marty in alarm. “Whoa, whoa, hold up a minute here. We can’t just go up to her! What if she’s with them?! Dude, there’s four of us and one of them is your little brother.” Beatrice tried to pull herself up and Richie grabbed ahold of her, “And that’s not the only issue here. “

She’s not with them.” Marty insisted, turning the green gemstone tied to a string around his own neck between two fingers, “My Ellie’s not killer.”

“Excuse me, _your_ Ellie?” The boy balked. Even Beatrice ceased her struggling at the turn of phrase.

“Yeah, we met once when we were kids, she was nice to me.” Marty explained, “One of the best days of my life, next to Cole being born.”

Fern and Richie exchanged looks. “Okay, no offense, but that is just sad.” Richie declared.

“Look, Marty even if she’s not with them, they probably attacked her, and at least one of the Surgeon clones with them, and the other Night Stalker clone—” Fern began.

“You have to keep pointing that out.” Richie lamented. When did this become his life?

“The point is, you two are going to freak her out.” Fern finished, “Also, I think that might be a police station she’s in front of.”

Marty thought for a moment. Fern a point there. “No, but she’s never seen you….”

As Ginger walked back in froth on the side-walk, happy to finally be stretching his legs, Ellie was rubbing her temples, her stomach sloshing, unable to get the words of one of Goodwin’s papers out of her mind. I _would not let a human be born with a defect. In spite of platitudes in the media and parents to justify their decision, they offer no value to society, and their lives cannot be very useful to themselves…_

What exactly did this man think a ‘defect’ was? Where did he draw the line? Ellie felt like she was going to puke. She bent over, vile coming up her throat. She was sure she was going to puke. _Oh, Mom, what were you part of?_

“Excuse me?”

Ellie looked up to see a tired-looking young woman in ill-fitting clothes. “Are-are you okay?” Ellie asked, managing to right herself.

“That’s a complicated question.” The woman answered, “But we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes: Buck Versus Bell refers to the 1927 Supreme Court Decision ordering Carrie Buck whom it called a “feebleminded daughter of a feebleminded daughter and herself the mother of feebleminded child” to be forcibly sterilized. Only, by contemporary standards Carrie was likely average intelligence and the claims of her intellectual disability where part of an attempt by her family to cover up the fact that she had been sexual assaulted by her foster mother's nephew resulting in the pregnancy that got her institutionalized. Either way, the ruling was a boon to the emerging eugenics movement in 1920s America. The ruling has never been overturned to this day.


	5. You Oughta Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team interrogates Myra. Malcolm and Ellie make a disturbing discovery.

My name’s Fern.” The woman began, “Up until last week, I worked at a juvenile psychiatric institute called Saint Dympha —"

Ellie’s mind lit up with recognition. “You need to come with me.” She declared urgently, picking up Ginger and grabbing the young woman’ wrists, “There’s a woman in there, she’s the corner, it’s a long story, but we’ve been looking for that place---"

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Fern told her, pulling her wrist from Ellie’s grip, “There are things you may not know.” In truth, Fern was still trying to wrap her head around the nightmare she found herself in. She always knew something was weird about that wing, but Saint Dympha Psychiatric had always been so shady it was barely a blip on the radar of what went on there. There was a reason she was about to quit when the ten broke out.

Ellie’s eyes darted around the street, then back to the station door, where Edrisa, seeing something was up, was coming to the door. Then at last she looked back to Fern. “Actually, I think I do.”

Realizing what was Ellie was getting at, all Fern could think to say was, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Ellie balked, “That’s all you can say? Oh?”

“I don’t know!” Fern exclaimed, exasperated and losing it a little, “It’s…it’s been a long week okay?! I was kidnapped by the Children of the Cron, nearly murdered, been dragged over hill and dale by a freakin’ kid trying to stay a step ahead of them and mostly failing, but he’s the only one with a plan, and there’s this big conspiracy and my one of my favorite patients turned out to be a freakin’ clone of that creep that’s been all over the news again since his daughter lost it, and now they’re all back there trying to keep this crazy girl pinned down in the van, and I’ve probably lost my job and I was about to quit anyway, but I—I….”

Seeing the strange woman flip out Edrisa decided to make her move, rushing out, when suddenly, Ellie put her cat back on the ground and wrapped her arms around the woman.

“It’s okay.” Ellie whispered to her, “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

“Ellie?” Edrisa spoke up, “Everything okay here?”

Ellie pulled back, turning her upper body around. “I think our luck’s starting to turn. This is Fern, she worked at Saint Dympha. “

“Oh.” Edrisa responded, “I see. Well, Fern, can we talk inside?"

Realizing the plan had to change again, Fern stepped forward, “Sure, just let me….”

That was when a girl’s scream filled the afternoon. This being New York, only a few people registered it. Fern stiffed, “Excuse, I have to go check on something, then I’ll be right back.” She turned and ran down the street.

“What…” Edrisa began, “Ellie, get inside, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, shouldn’t you get a cop?!” Ellie called out, “Or , you know, someone with a gun?!” With that, she took herself. She could not stay on the sidelines. Not when they were this close.

Fern was a fair distance away from Edrisa, reaching the van before the other women even saw her, pulling the panel open, revealing Richie, Marty, and Beatrice rolling on the floor. “What is going on?!” She demanded.

“Don’t look at me!” Marty exclaimed, “Richie’s the one uncovered her mouth!”

“She bit me!” Richie exclaimed.

“How did it go?” Marty asked.

“Not like I thought it would.” Fern admitted, “She’s waiting for us, with some kind of lady cop. They’ve been looking into Saint Dympha’s, they might even know about—you know, the C word. I think we should talk to them.”

“What?!” Marty balked, still struggling with Beatrice, “No!”

“Actually, maybe we should—” Richie began.

“Richie, you think Dedalus pulled something like this off without any connections?” Marty challenged, “The only people we can trust for sure, is in this van.”

Just then, Beatrice got a shift kick at Richie’s groin causing the boy to double over with a pained gasp.

“Except for maybe Beatrice.” Marty added.

“Look, Ellie seems to trusts them.” Fern reasoned.

“Ellie is a naïve child who was raised on the outside.” Marty argued.

Just then, Beatrice screamed again. Realizing they couldn’t do this with Beatrice wilding, Fern reluctantly got in the van, shutting the door and sliding into the driver’s seat, starting the car hitting gas, just before Edrisa or Ellie, who was just behind her, could stop them.

“This is unnecessary” Malcolm insisted as a paramedic shined a blinding light in his eyes, “I’m _fine_.”

“You were hit in the back of a head with a two by four.” Dani reminded him from the spot on the back of the ambulance next to him, slightly less resistant to help from paramedics.

Meanwhile, Gil was trying to secure the scene with three very confused uniformed officers. “I need you to take everything strait to HQ, put it with the murder board. Don’t take it to the evidence locker, I’ll take care of it personally.”

The three young men who couldn’t be more than in their twenties exchanged perplexed looks, but went off to do as they were did.

Just then Gil’s phone rang.

“Can you tell me what year it is?” The paramedic was asking Malcolm, as he finally examined the back of his head.

“2021.” Malcolm replied.

Just then his phone went off. Fearing the worst, he scrambled to get it.

It was still twenty more minutes before everyone arrived back at the precinct. Malcolm and Dani walked back into the precinct, Ellie running up to them, and throwing her arms around his upper body, inadvertently causing the parts of his body that would be bruised in the morning to protest and forcing him to bite back a yelp of pain. “Are you alright?” She asked pulling back, “Are you hurt? They said….” “We’re fine.” Malcolm assure them, “Just a few stitches. What about you? Edrisa said….”

“I’m fine, Fern was harmless.” Ellie insisted, “Just stressed and scared.” Then she turned her attention back to what befell Malcolm and Dani, frantic when she thought of the possibilities. “I can’t believe they did that. They could’ve…you both could’ve been…”

“Ellie, Ellie, breathe.” Malcolm instructed. As Ellie did, he said, “We’re alive. We’re fine. It’s going to be okay.”   
Once she calmed down for a minute, Ellie remembered. “We did finally get somewhere after Fern dropped in.” She back to the desk and picked up a thick stack of papers as the adults fallowed her. “Saint Dympha is a teenage psychiatric institute up in Maine. It’s been investigated for like, a lot for different things. Messing up patients’ meds, abuse, they even lost a kid once, but two years ago, it all stopped.”

Malcolm took the papers from Ellie as Dani wondered aloud, “How does a think tank get that kind of pull?”

“The mental health system has a lot of problems.” Malcolm told her, “But still, you’re right. Likely Daedalus got the accusations swept under the rug in exchange for them using it for a holding facility.” However, Dani was also right to wonder how a think tank of all things got that kind of pull to begin with. Suddenly, he had an idea who to ask.

No. It was a terrible idea. He probably didn’t even _know_ anything. And it wasn’t like he could just leave or now. Or with things like they were, just get into Claremont for that matter.

“But wait, there’s more.” Ellie’s voice cut through his though process, “It took a while, and I’m not entirely sure how we found it was completely legal, bur apparently the cops were called in about some kind of riot last week. Detail are little sketchy, apparently whatever happened, one of the staff died…”

That was when Gil walked in with a handcuffed Myra, captured, but certainly not cowed.

“You’re working for them, aren’t you?!” She sneered, struggling, digging in her heels so the detective practically had to drag her, “What’s next?! The ice pick in the eye!” She grinned manically, “You’re so going to regret the day you ever heard of us. You hear me! You’re dead! You’re all dead!”

When she saw her, heard her voice, Ellie froze, her heart stopping, her blood turning cold. She had seen this girl before…

_“Mom, what is going on?!” Ellie demanded, watching her mother franticly throw important documents and clothes into a suitcase._

_“Baby, I promise, I’ll explain everything when we get on road, but now there’s no time.” Her mother partly snapped, looking around, “Where is it? Where is it?” Then she went to the closet and threw open the lock box at the bottom, pulling out a gun._

_“What are you doing with a ---” Ellie began, putting Ginger’s carrier on her back._

_She was cut off by a knock at the door. “Ah, excuse me? Is anyone home?” A girl’s voice called out, syrupy sweet._

_Ellie walked over to the window and peaked through the blinds and saw a group of kids that looked about her age, most of them standing back except for a girl dressed in mostly black, her hair in a brown pixie cut. Just then she knocked on the door again. “Dr. Stone…”_

_“Oh no.” Her mother moaned, “Oh, please no….”_

_That was when they heard the first bam as they started to kick down the door_.   
A turbulent mixture of terror and rage suddenly filled Ellie and she started hyperventilating. Realizing what was happening, Malcolm urgently requested, “Gil, get her out of here.” Then he turned his attention to Ellie, getting in between her and the leader of her mother’s killers, “Ellie, look at me, don’t look at her, look at me.” Then he took the girl on either side and pushed from the room as safely as he could.

It was good thing he did as by the time they got out of the young murderess’ sight, rage won out. “She killed my Mom!” Ellie screamed, trying to push back Malcolm and get back to Myra, not know what she was going to do, just that it involved making that monster pay for what she did.

“Ellie, you’re in shock---” Malcolm began, taking hold of her.

Ellie failed and kicked in Malcolm’s grasp. “Let me go! Let me—let me---” Let her do what? Hurt the other girl? Kill her? If he hadn’t just stopped her, what would she have done? Her voice trailed off as she broke down in tears.

“Ellie, you’re in shock.” Malcolm repeated gently, keeping clam “That’s perfectly normal reaction to what just happened.” _I’m actually surprised this hasn’t happened sooner._ “What can I do to help?”

What it turned out Malcolm could do was let her cry it out until she couldn’t anymore. Then when she was finally clam enough to be released from his hold, listen.

“I don’t know what came over me. “Ellie finally said, slumped up against the wall on the floor with Malcolm next to her, “I just saw her and it—it all came coming back and I was scared and so, angry and…” “

You had a completely normal reaction.” Malcolm assured her.

“Screaming and trying to get to someone to do…. I don’t even know what I was going to do.” Ellie questioned, “That’s a normal reaction?”

“You’ve endured days of almost non- stop stress, trauma, and a delayed grieving process.” Malcolm pointed out, “The point is I can see why you reacted the way you did. “

Ellie whipped fresh tears brimming from the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry I know I’m being stupid. I just don’t…I don’t understand how I can still miss her so much after she spent her whole life lying to me.” She really couldn’t. Even as angry as she was with her mother over the secrets she had kept, there was this deep ache inside of her when she thought about the fact that her mother was gone.

“You can still love someone who hurt you.” Malcolm assured her, “It’s more common than you think. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it certainly isn’t stupid.” Gingerly, unsure of what he was doing, he reached out for his hand. Ellie squeeze it for all it was worth. When they broke apart, Malcolm continued, “Now, we need to talk about next steps. “

“Why does there have to be next steps?” Ellie asked.

“I …. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here.” Malcolm explained, not believing he of all people were saying this, “I can take you back to my place…”

“No.” Ellie cut him off firmly, “No. I—I want to stay. I want to help.”

“Ellie, I get it, but there’s not much you can do.” Malcolm reasoned, “And she’s going to be here and if we find the others so will they…”

“I’ll stay away from them.” Ellie insisted, “And I can do research or something. Please, please just—just don’t make me go back there. If I’m just sitting there, I’ll have to think about things and thinking has been all I’ve been doing for three days. If I kept thinking about it, I don’t know what I’ll do. At least reach keeps me distracted.”

Malcolm nodded. “You can stay, but just—just take a minute maybe.” He didn’t think the girl in a state to be doing anything, but he was worried what she would do if he forced her on the sidelines. Besides, he was the last one to be talking on much matters.

“I can do that.” Ellie agreed. 

Dani, her hair now up in a quickly constructed bun that made Malcolm wonder what exactly happened while he was gone, was looking through the two-way mirror, a thick file in her hand, when he walked in. “How’s Ellie?”

“Not good.” Malcolm admitted, “She’s still in shock from seeing Myra, but she’s refusing to go back to my place. At least I got to take minute before she goes back to research.”

_Kinda reminds me of someone I know._ Dani mused to herself.

“Yeah, I know.” Malcolm spoke up, realizing what she was thinking, “Any luck in here?”

“Depends on what you call luck.” Dani responded, “If you mean did we get her secured without anyone getting injured, somehow, yes, if you mean has she told us where the others are. No. So far all she’s done is curse us out, give us a lot of a sass, managed to get me by my hair for minute and tried to bite my ear. We’re hopping these might do something. Wish me luck.”

With that she walked into the room, leaving Malcolm to observe from the other side of the mirror. Dani threw the file down on the table with a thud. “You and your friends have been busy.” She opened the file, revealing a picture of a man in the woman lying dead on the floor, matching bullet holes in their foreheads, a few days into decomp. “John and Anna Burrows, found dead two days ago. Been dead longer.” She then began tossing picture after picture on the table, “Jolene and Adam Ingram, Eric Buyers, Isla and Neal Nelson—” she finished with the picture of the bloody corpse of Ellie’s mother, before pratically flinging it in front of the teen, “Naomi Stone.”

Myra was less than impressed. “I’m sorry, is this supposed to make me break down crying and tell you everything? Sorry, honey, it’s going to take a little more than that.” After pausing a moment, the smiled, asking, “Hey, where’s the other guy? You know, the hot potato in the suit? I liked him.”

“You have your minions hit everyone you like over the head with a two by four?” Dani snarked.

“Minions?” Myra repeated with a grin and a little laugh, as if amused, “You make me sound like some sort of evil overlord.”

“I don’t think you get how serious this is.” Gil spoke up, all business, “We got you and your friends on breaking and entering, assault on an officer, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, attempted kidnapping.” He pulled pushed forwards a bag containing the black- handled stiletto blade they had found on her, “And we’re going to compare this to the victim’s stab wounds, see if they match. Just make it easier on yourself now and tell us where the others are. “

Myra folded her arms as best she could with her hands cuffed to the table. “Even if you get it out of me, they’ll already have moved. We’re organized, we have a chain of command. Let’s just cut all this pretense and get it over with.”

Both cops glanced at each other with their eyes. “Get what over with?” Dani asked.

Myra raised an eyebrow. “Hand me over to Goodwin. Knowing him he’s insisting on handling us all, personally.”

Both detectives had a sinking feeling they knew what that meant, but Gil asked anyway. “And by ‘handling’ you mean—"

Myra looked at them like she couldn’t believe how stupid they were. “’Terminate the project? Dispose of the evidence?” She made a slashing motion across her throat with a little hiss.

A thrill of alarm went through both detective as Gil stepped outside to call JT. They had to get in that house and get Marty the other Myra. “How did we miss this?” Of course, anyone immoral and unethical enough to clone human beings, serial killers at that, would have no trouble murdering children to cover their tracks.

“We were thinking about the danger they posed, we never thought to consider there was a danger to them. “Malcolm lamented, also surprised that he was surprised. But still, how could they just disappear 40 kids? Probably the same way they made the kids in the first place. Got access to bodies, or live killers, with no one knowing. His mind was racing. Where are they getting this pull? A chill went through his system as he thought once again of someone who might be able to shed some light on that.

Before he could consider that option any further, Dani stepped out of the room, “That kid’s a piece of work. So, you got anything for us?”

“Well, she has nothing but contempt for us.” Malcolm responded, “She thinks we’re with them, that we’re the enemy. Same thing with her victims. I don’t think they weren’t even people to her. The only people she cares about is the other clones. We’re not going to get anything out of her. She won’t betray them.”

As if to empathized Malcolm’s point on how little she cared, Myra leaned back in her chair, looking up into the lights, singing softly in wispy voice to herself, _“And I’m here to remind you, of the mess you left when you went away…”_

They all watched from the window, before Dani stated what they all were thinking, “There has to be some way to get her to crack. She may be an extremely messed up kid, but she’s still a kid.”

Malcolm got an idea. “Well, she did ask for me…”

Not looking at the door, but still aware of her surroundings, Myra was still singing to herself when Malcolm opened the door. _“’It’s not fair to deny me, of the cross I bare that you gave to me…”_ Her voice trailed off as Malcolm stepped in the room, righting herself and grinning at him. “I was wondering where you got off to.”

“I heard you were asking for me.” Malcolm responded, sitting down across from her. “And by heard, you mean you were watching from behind that two way.” Myra quipped, “What can I say, hot potato, there’s just something about you…” She narrowed her eyes, “Something familiar that I just can’t place…”

For a brief moment, Malcolm wondered how much about the originals the clones actually knew. Not so much, MO’s or victimology, but personal things. Like offspring. Brushing that aside for the moment, as it was there was no way that could be it, he changed the subject. “Myra, there seems to have been misunderstanding—”

“I can’t figure it for the life of me.” Myra kept on, as if not even hearing Malcolm, “But there’s something, something I can’t quite place, but it—it’s there. I just can’t figure it out. Hey, have you ever been to Poughkeepsie?”

“Myra, focus.” Malcolm insisted, “I’m trying to tell you that we don’t work for Dedalus.”

Myra snorted. “Sure.”

“No, we’re a normal major crimes division of the NYPD that just happened to stumble upon this when we caught the Halley murders.” Malcolm admitted. Before he could go on, he noticed the smile that crossed her face, as if she was reminiscing about a happy memory in her head. “You’re…proud of those murders, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Myra responded, “Oh, I didn’t actually do much, just told a couple of the boys’ to take care of it while I helped Lizzie incapacitate her brother. She did the rest. Lizzie—Lizzie’s got real talent. Lots of untapped protentional. I mean, the screams that came out of that scum when she made him a falsetto--“She chuckled, then got down to business, “I mean, I would have never thought of that, I tend to be all business. “She laughed again, “No one saw that coming, but she just kept getting more worked up, screaming, and slashing and then suddenly she just stabs it in there and starts cutting.”

“So, she was doing it in a rage?” Malcolm guessed, unable to stop himself, “Not for pleasure?”

“Oh, there was still pleasure.” Myra told him, “But, really, can you blame her? I mean, I got a peak at her files, her brother had her going to the ER every other week, to the point where the local hospital told her if she came back in there, they were calling child services. After that they just went to different hospitals under assumed names. “Looking off she mused aloud, “Maybe we should have saved the parents for her, too. Anyway, she’ll still need some training. Obviously, you caught me so, I’m out, but David and ---” Her voice trailed off, realizing she was giving too much away, “We have people who can handle it.”

Malcolm gave her an apprising look, trying to make put this bit of conversation into place. Peel back the monster to get to girl. If he could find the girl, he could get her to tell them where the others were. The way she talked; it was almost like a parent proud of a child’s accomplishment. “You feel…something almost maternal for the others. Like you’re their mother, even though they’re your age, or around your age.” Myra didn’t deny it, smiling as she commented, “I guess you could call me a mother to my troops.”

_If they sign up_. Malcolm thought, remembering one boy in particular. “And Eddie Patterson?”

“We offer him a place in the ranks, he said no.” Myra shrugged it off, “He picked his side. Any good general will tell you deserters must be executed.”

_She likes her military terms_. Malcolm eternal noted, biting back his horror as he got to the point. “ Myra, you need to do what’s best for your troops. We may not be working for Dedalus, but Daedalus is looking for you and the others. They’ve already got the other Myra clone—”

“Which one?” Myra cut her off.

“Excuse me?” Malcolm responded, confused. “There are three Myra Hindley clones.” Myra told him, “Me, Myra Nicks, and Myra Myers.”

That was when he put it together. “You’re one of the four self-aware clones, aren’t you?”

“Mm, not just a pretty face.” Myra mused confirming his theory.

Fascination overcoming urgency for a moment, Malcolm asked, “Well, what’s that like?”

“Have you ever read _Never Let Me Go_? “Myra began, “You know, the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, I think they made movie of it a while back. Anyway, they told the clones what they were when they were too little to understand the implications and by the time, they could it just…their life. It was sort of like that, except with Krav Maga and Jujitsu lessons.” Suddenly something else a occurred to her, “You’re a profiler, aren’t you? Maybe that’s why seem familiar, my dad was the profiler for the ‘Descended’ Project. “

_Well, at least she’s talking._ Malcolm thought. “Daedalus has a profiler?”  
“Snagged him from the feds with, a bigger paycheck, that some other…fringe benefits, but that’s neither here nor there. “Myra confirmed, “Helped pick out the specimens, gave pointers to the experimental group about the specimens’ background so they could…replicate it, if there was anything could replicate. And if there wasn’t enough known, or the specimen actually came from a reasonably functional background, he came up with his own ideas.”

Malcolm felt a surge of red-hot anger surge through him. This man had laid ground work for the abuse and outright torture of at the time completely innocent children. And for what? A little extra cash? “I got to tell you that…that makes me angry. The man’s a disgrace to the profession.”

“So, you understand why I had to kill him?” Myra responded casually.

Meanwhile, Ellie was in front of a computer, rubbing her face. Aside from what they learned from her mom’s journal and Fern’s visit, they still getting nowhere and she felt like might lose it again. How in the twenty-first century were there no records anywhere that could narrow this down?!

Just then, a uniformed officer sat a box down a few feet away from her, the noise of the box making contact with the table making her look up. “What’s that?”

“What was left of McNab’s study.” Dani answered from where she had joined the others for a moment.

The corner of a photo catching her eye, Ellie got up and went over to the box, beginning to rummage through the box in attempt to reach the picture. Before she could something else caught her eye: A list of names. Recognizing one of the names, she picked it up. “Ellie, you can’t just—” Dani began, heading over to stop her.

“Detective, you might want to take a look at this.” Ellie said, only half-processing that she had spoken, handing her the list.

Taking it, Dani began reading the list aloud to herself softly. “David Burrows, Myra Dennison, Martin Goodwin…” Realizing what she had, she ran off, leaving Ellie alone with the box. Ellie was finally about to get to what she wanted, a small rectangular photo in a plastic evidence bag. It was of a woman in her early or mid-twenties with long red read and hazel eyes. She was standing next to Ellie’s mother, who was smiling into the camera with a newborn bad in frilly pink dress with matching bonnet and booties. Booties they still had in a keepsake box in the attic.

She had met Doretha McNab after all.

Back in the interrogation room Malcolm was trying to hide his shock at what Myra just said. “I didn’t see you on the missing list.”

“Oh, I killed my dad before they sent me away.” Myra told him, still all smiles, rather casual about the whole thing, “Made it look like a suicide. A few grounds up pills, he never saw it coming. Thought he had defused me.”

“Defused?” Malcolm repeated.

“Transferred me to a finishing school my freshman year.” Myra elaborated, “ I mean, who knew those were even still a thing? All very _Girls with Sharp Sticks_ , except with better food. Lots of baked ham. I guess he thought if he could get me away from it all, stop with the training, it would undo fifteen years of Housebreaking and How To Get Away With Murder classes.” Myra snorted, “I’ve never said Marty’s dad so mad.”

“Marty?” Malcolm repeated once more, “You mean Martin Goodwin?”

“Only his dad calls him Martin.” Myra informed her, “But yeah, all us self-aware ones knew each other. Honestly, I think it might have been better if him and me were switched, you know, me with Dr. Goodwin, him with my deadly departed daddy. Marty can rattle off stats on the originals like nobody’s business and is like, obsessed with the profiling crap. And I was never much of a scientist, but Marty was always bitching about how rigorous his dad was with the weapons training, drills, practical use of poison, I always thought he was lucky.”

“I’m sorry, weapons training?” Malcolm balked, “How to get away with murder?” He was starting to think it was a small wonder they hadn’t killed anyone _sooner_.

That was when Myra realized, “You still haven’t figured it out, have you? Why they made us?”

“No.” Malcolm admitted, “But I take it you’ve been told.”

Myra chuckled. “Think about it, Mr. Profiler.” She waited a minute, then he still didn’t get it, raised her head up in a show of exasperation, before lowering it again to look at him, gesturing as widely as she could with her hands cuffed to the table, exclaiming flatly, “We’re _weapons_. Knives in the process of being sharpened. Guns being loaded. Bombs being set to blow.”

“Weapons?” Malcolm completely not quite comprehending.

“Alright, “Myra began almost congenially, happy to explain, “Let’s say if you took, let’s just say, the Surgeon and dropped him in North Korea and told him to take out the beloved leader. What do you think would happen?”

“He would be killed quickly.” Malcolm almost deadpanned, “Because Kim Jong-un has massive amounts of security, and as manipulative as Dr. Whitley is, I think it only works if he can speak the same language as the people he’s manipulating.”

“And you know for a fact Whitley doesn’t speak Korean?” Myra teased, then went on, “You’re probably right, but imagine if he was backed up my Ted Bundy, Jeffery Dahmer, the Night Stalker, the chick who inspired _Arsenic and Old Lace_ , “She made a motion of brushing back her hair, “Myra Hindley. The worst of the worst, all wreaking havoc across North Korea at once and scaring the living crap out of everybody.” Malcolm couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s the most insane plan for a bio weapon I have ever heard. There’s no way it could possibly work. There are too many variables, you’re all growing at the normal rate of any other human, only four of you are actually trained, and what would random mass chaos actually do?”

“Well, I can’t speak to all your questions but in the case of the training, I suppose they were going to give everyone an accelerated version of the training they gave us after everybody showed their protentional.” Myra reasoned, “They just weren’t expecting on their creations turning on them. “

Just then, there was a knock on the door, then Dani stepped in. “Bright, we need you outside for a moment.”

Malcolm stood. “Please, just think about what I said. If half of what you’ve told me is true, you want us to find the others before Daedalus’ does.”

“Sure, sure.” Myra replied nonchalantly, then looked up at the ceiling, began to sing to herself again and they left. _“…. Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity…?"_

“What happened?” Malcolm asked, expecting the worst once again.

“I think we found Myra’s family.” Dani said, handing him yet another file, “Grant and Cinda Dennison, three daughters, Myra seventeen, Natalie, fourteen, Octavia twelve. Grant died of an overdose last year. Coroner ruled it a suicide.”

“Any evidence of foul play?” Malcolm asked, “I don’t know how much you were watching, but Myra just confessed to killing him and making it look like a suicide.”

“There was nothing to indicate that.” Dani answered, “In fact, people close to him were concerned something like this would happen. Said he changed over the last couple of years of his life. But why would she lie about that?”

Two distinctly different theories formed in Malcolm’s mind. “Okay, I think either she told me she did it because she wishes she did, her father first brought her up as living weapon, then took her away from everything she ever knew in attempt to defuse her, and she hates him for it, so she fantasizes about him being her first victim. Or, she actually did kill him and successfully made it look like a suicide. She certainly wouldn’t be the first, and….”

“And they made these kids to be used as a bio weapon.” Dani cut him off, “I was there for that bit.” After a moment of contemplation, she wondered aloud, “Who would even think of something like that?”

“That profile’s going to take me a minute.” Malcolm responded in all seriousness.

“Bright, there’s more.” Dani began, “Ellie found in a picture in the things from McNab’s. It was of McNab and her mother. And she thinks she was in the picture too.”

Taking a minute from Myra, Malcolm walked into the conference room, where Ellie was standing in front of the table, which was covered in plastic bagged item from Doretha’s McNab’s. Being careful not to startle her, he walked up to her side, “So, Dani told me about your little discovery.”

Ellie picked up the bag with the picture. “There are about a dozen pictures back home of me in that outfit. I’d know it anywhere.” She turned her head to look at him, “Bright, I swear, I had no idea…”

“I know.” Malcolm assured her, “There’s no way anyone could remember that.”

“But that’s not the only thing I’ve found. “ Ellie said, picking up another picture, this one in the frame, of the two women but younger, in their early twenties, in black cap and gowns, “There’s one of this at home of just my mom from when she got her bachelor’s, right before she went for her doctorate. She knew this woman for over a decade.”

Looking at the picture, something went off in the back of his mind. “Can I look at the picture of them with you for minute, please?” Maybe if he saw an older Dr. Stone, he could know for sure. “Sure.” Ellie obliged, handing him in the picture. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the photo. Everything happened so fast he hadn’t actually got a chance a look the crime scene photos, or any other photos for that matter, of Dr. Stone, but now that he had…” I think I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

“Who?” Ellie asked, leaning over, “Dr. McNab?”

“No, your mother…” Malcolm reluctantly admitted, but he couldn’t figure out where.

Then it hit him.

_In 2003, when the last of the samples was gathered, Malcolm still been on speaking terms with his father. And therefore, still visiting him._

_He had been walking down the hall when he saw a woman coming from the opposite, a few moments away from colliding with him. He stepped out of the was just in time. She was a woman in her early to mid-thirties, well put together, professionally dressed in a dark dress skirt and long-sleeved blouse, her blonde hair pulled back in bund, a few strands falling her face. He could almost clearly see that she was in distress, pratically shaking, looking like she was on the edge of tears. Well, look where she was._

_“You alright ma’am?” Malcolm asked, though he knew the answer was clearly no._

_The woman froze, turning to glance at him. “Yes, yes.” She lied, trying to pull herself together, whipping her face and pulling the lose strands out of her face, “The place just got to me a little.”_

_“Tell me about it.” Malcolm agreed, “Is it okay if I ask what you’re doing here anyway?”_

_“It’s kind of a long story.” The woman responded, clearly wanting out of this conversation, but also at the same time also ready to burst._

_“Why don’t we walk a minute?” Malcolm suggested, still very concerned. “_

_Thank you, that’s very kind of you to offer.” The woman responded, closing herself off, “But , I’ve already kept you enough. You clearly have enough troubles of your own.”  
“I’m not…” Malcolm began. _

_“Oh, of course not.” The woman said quickly, “You still wound up here somehow.” They were silent for a moment, then she said, “Anyway, I have a, um, college waiting on me, I really should go. Take care of yourself. ”With that the woman he now knew as Dr. Naomi Stone hurrying down the hall as fast as he heeled feet could carry her._

_Knowing that following after her would just make things worst, Malcolm just watched her fade into the distance, hopping he could pry answers out of someone. Someone had to know why she was there._

“Hold up,” Ellie spoke up, thrown, “Are you saying you _knew_ my mother?”

“Not exactly knew.” Malcolm answered, still processing the memory, “I met her once, at this…psychiatric institute. “

“What, were you working a case or something?” Ellie pressed, desperate for every detail she could get.

“I was still in school.” Malcolm answered, still staring in the at the picture.

_Well, that explains everything._ Ellie though sarcastically, starting to get frustrated. “Well, do you know why she was there?”

“We didn’t exactly have that long of a conversation.” Malcolm explained, “But I have an idea what she might have been there for….” He looked into Ellie’s desperate eyes and knew what he had to do. He turned and pratically marched from the room.

Ellie ran after him. “Wait, where are you going? Bright!” She was one step behind him now, “You can’t drop a bombshell like that and just leave.”

Realizing he owed her an explanation, he stopped turning around. “Look, I think I know who your mom was there to see. I can get in to talk to him. I can’t guarantee he’ll give me anything, and even then, he just might be able to confirm what we already know, but if he has anything at all…. I’ll do everything I can to get you answers. I promise.”

He began to walk off again, and Ellie began following him, “Wait, you gotta let me come with you.”

He stopped, whirling around. “Ellie, that is a supremely bad idea.”

“Look, I won’t get in the way, I promise.” Ellie insisted, “But I need answers and all I get is more questions. If this guy has them, I can’t just sit on my thumbs anymore. Besides, what are the odds of the killer clones showing up t _here_?”

“Ellie, I understand.” Malcolm told her, “Believe me, I do. But I’m about to go to a very awful place to talk to a very, _very_ bad man. The day I bring you along with me is the day I quit my job and have myself committed, and that’s finial.”

That was when two women had walked into the bull pen. One was a woman in her early twenties with creamy brown skin and long blacker than night hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, dressed in white blazer and slacks, looking around like she wasn’t sure where to go. She was stranger to him. The other woman was Collette Swanson, in her usual dark colored clothing.

Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat as a cold wave washed over him and an imagine of Ellie strapped down to the table being cut open flashed in his mind’s eyes. Alright, it probably wouldn’t be as dramatic as that, but if the Bureau had somehow found out about this, things were about to spin out of control and as the product of an illegal experiment, Ellie’s fate began increasingly uncertain. And with Collette involved, she was going to throw them all off the case faster than you could say Bob’s your uncle.

He wouldn’t be able to protect her.

Seeing the woman as well, Dani hurried across the room to them, turning back to look at Bright, nodding, as if saying, _do what you have to do_. Before turning back to the pair. “Agents, can I help you?”

While Dani had them distracted, Malcolm turned back to Ellie. “Okay, change of plans. But you do everything I tell you, and you wait outside. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Ellie agreed. It not being lost on her the presence of the women, and realizing it had something to do with Malcolm changing his tune, she asked, “How much trouble are we in?”

“On a scale of one to ten?” Malcolm responded, grabbing her wrist, “We’ll go out the back.”


	6. The Runaways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty tries to deliver a message and gets the shock of his life. Richie tries to make a connection to Beatrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late Merry Christmas, happy Boxing Day, and if I don't post anything before then, happy New Year!  
> So, this was originally suppose to be part of the last chapter, but I'm trying to pair down to keep things from getting too hard to follow. Hope it works.

While all this was happening, Marty and his party had troubles of their own with their Myra Hindely clone.

Beatrice wouldn’t stop fighting them the entire way there. The boys didn’t know how they managed to force her into the motel without anyone noticing. Once in there she started throwing things and Marty—with a little help from an unprepared Richie—had to incapacitate her again and tie her to one of the two beds in the room.

“Dude, people are going to think we kidnapped her.” Richie declared, staring at the thrashing girl on the bed, unable to believe they just did that, “And we basically _did_.”

“We’re not kidnapping, we’re deprograming.” Marty insisted, “This is just until we can bring her to her senses and she’s not a danger to us or herself.”

“Deprograming?” Richie repeated, “Marty, I get it, your father’s manipulative, but she was only with him for like, what, a day? How brainwashed, could she be?”

Marty stared at the other boy, hard. “You have no idea what my father is capable of.”

_At seven years of age, a few months after the pumpkin patch incident, Marty was sitting on a blanket in the backyard with his English tutor, woman in her late twenties, her dark brown hair falling in fat, glossy curls, reading from one of the condensed classics she was always bringing him. “I think I’m going out west. Aunt Sally wants to adopt me. She says she’ll make me civilized. I’d rather not. I’ve been there before. The end.” “_

_Nice job, Marty.” The tutor, Gwen, complimented him in a slight southern accent, rubbing his hair. She was quiet for a moment, staring off, before turning back to him and saying, “Marty, I wanted to talk to you about something.”_

_“About what?” Marty asked, alarmed by the change in her demeanor, “What’s wrong?” There had to be something wrong. “_

_Nothing’s wrong.” Gwen assured him, “It’s just…” She searched for her words, before finally coming out with it, “How would you feel if I came here to live with you?”_

_Marty grinned. “Yeah!” Of all his tutors, Gwen was his favorite. She was nice and smart and always showed him new things._

_Gwen shifted awkwardly._

_“What’s wrong?” Marty repeated, “You don’t want to live here?”_

_“No, it’s not that, honey.” Gwen assured him, “It’s hard to explain. Your dad has asked me to marry him. Says he’s crazy about me.”_

_Marty’s face contorted in confusion and surprise. He didn’t even know they were dating! Didn’t there have to be some sort of courtship first? “Don’t you…don’t you have to date before you get married?”_

_“Well, normally, yes,” Gwen admitted awkwardly, “Which is why it surprised me at first, but we talked about it and I…I think it might be a good idea.”_

_“Do you love him?” Marty asked. Gwen asked somewhat awkwardly._

_“That’s pretty deep for a seven-year-old.” She was silent a minute. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “I mean, I like your father and all…” She ran her fingers through the boy’s hair, “I think could learn to love him. Especially when I would have such an awesome stepson.”_

_Even at seven, Marty could see what was happening. She was saying ‘yes’ for his sake. So, he could have a mom. And he wanted Gwen for a mom. But it still felt wrong. “You’re too good for him.” He murdered. “Martin!” Gwen gasped._

_“Well, it’s true!” Marty responded, turning away, “You’re too good for me, too. You deserve so much better.”_

_Gwen’s heart broke at that. “Please, don’t think that. Don’t ever, ever think that.”_

_“But I’m a freak!” Marty protested, “You should have better then a freak for a stepson!”_

_Gwen looked like she was about to cry. “Come here.” She pulled him in close. “You, Marty Goodwin, are_ not _a freak. You’re a beautiful creation, and a wonderful boy.” After a beat she smiled mischievously adding, “And my best and brightest student.”_

Gwen had loved him. And Charles Goodwin had used that to get her to agree to a union that went against every fiber of her being in a twisted attempt to keep her quiet.

And it ended it up costing her her life.

Just then, Fern stepped inside, holding a portable radio. “Yeah, not saying this motel is skeivy, but I think I just saw Sam and Dean check into the room next door.”

“Do you have it?” Marty asked, then realized that was stupid as the radio he had asked her to get was _in her hands._

“Sorry.” Fern sat the radio down on the floor and pulled it into the wall, turning it on and turning the volume as loud as she could. _“When did I go wrong? I lost a friend? Somewhere along in the bitterness….”_ Satisfied that no one would hear anything, Marty ran over to Beatrice. “Alright, I’m going to take the gag out now. Please don’t scream.”

The minute the cloth was off, she ignored his pleas. “Help me!” She screamed, “Somebody help me---”

“Oh, come on!” Marty lamented, “I said, please! Look, with that radio up that loud, nobody’s going to hear you….”

“Marty, Marty, Marty!” Richie spoke up, “You’re just making it worst. Here, let me try.”

Marty walked away as Richie crouched down in front of Beatrice, who had stopped screaming. “It’s Beatrice, right?” He asked, “That’s your name now, right? That’s what you want to be called?”

“Yeah.” Beatrice confirmed. It was as good a name as any.

“Well, Beatrice, I’m Richie and that’s Fern, and I believe you’ve already been introduced to Marty and Cole.” He glanced over to where the little boy was standing on the other side of the room. That poor kid was going to need some serious help after this. In fact, he didn’t think he had heard the kid spoke since he got in the van. But Cole wasn’t the one about to do something he couldn’t take back.

“I get why you’re upset. The whole mad scientist, cloning conspiracy threw me for a loop at first, too. My dad and quite possibly my mom being murdered didn’t exactly help. In fact that may be the understatement of the century. And we’ll never be able to make it completely right, but we can at least fix some of it, and that’s all we’re trying to do. Do all that we can to make things right. And we want you to help us.”

Beatrice shot daggers at him. “The only way to make things right is for us all to put bullets in our heads.”

Richie’s heart broke, an image of this beautiful girl with a bullet hole in her forehead, all life gone, formed in his head unwanted. “Please don’t say that.”

Meanwhile, Fern and Marty were whispering in the corner. “Marty, we need to go back to that station. We are in way over our heads. We need help.”

“I told you—” Marty began.

“Dedalus has connections, I know.” Fern cut him off, “All the more reason to reach out. A plucky team of two teenage boys, a nurse, a first grader and our …. token evil teammate over there are not going to cut it against the big, amoral thinktank with its fingers in …. who knows how many pies?”

“I’d say less than a dozen.” Marty responded, then caught another part of what Fern said, “Token what?”

“Never mind.” Fern responded, “The point is, sure, it’s risky, but it’s a risk we have to take.”

Marty realized she was right. Besides, he needed to get Ellie. “Alright, but there are a few precautions we need to take. I think I saw a _Kinkos_ round the block, I’ll make copies of everything, you hold on to the originals and you and Richie wait here with Cole and Beatrice. If you haven’t heard anything from me in three hours, get yourselves out. “

Fern didn’t like the idea of Marty doing this on his own, but understood why he wanted it that. “Okay.”

Marty then went over to Cole and crouched down next to him, cupping his face. “Okay, buddy, I’m going to be back as soon as I can, so I need you to be good for these guys, okay?”

“But you just got back.” Cole wined.

Marty hated doing this to him. “I know, buddy, I know.” He pulled his brother into an embrace and spoke into his hair line, “But this is serious and I need you to do this for me. It’s important.”

“Okay,” Cole agreed, “I’ll be good.”

“Good.” Marty told him, rising back up, “Do me a favor? Try to work on Beatrice while I’m gone. Maybe you guys can make her come around.”

And with that he was gone. Everything seemed to go on pause for a moment, then Richie walked over to Beatrice and began to untie her from the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rich, what do you think you’re doing?” Fern demanded, hurrying over to his side.

“If we’re going to make her come around, we’re not going to do it like this.” Richie reasoned, “Look, tied up, she’s an enemy. Untied…maybe she’ll be more receptive.”

Fern gave him a hard stare for a minute. Then she remembered what it felt like to be tied to a pole and any resolve she had melted away. “Alright, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Richie breathed, then proceeded to untie Beatrice and help her upright on the bed.

Getting set up at the _Kinkos_ was surprisingly easy. Marty just told them he needed to make copies, obviously not telling them what the copies were of, and they didn’t ask, then they pointed to machine, and now he depositing quarter after quarter, making page after page, looking around every few seconds to make sure there was no one he needed to worry about. Overhead someone, probably the manager, had put one some classic rock station. _“This one goes out to the one I love. This one goes out to the one I left, behind….”_

_The one I left behind._ The phrase reverberated in Marty’s mind. That was the last thing he wanted to think about what now. The _ones_ he left behind. Cole, who had been left alone with their alleged father for months, almost half a year! And he’d been so quiet since Marty got back. What had Dr. Goodwin done to him? And where was the dog? Ellie. If those cops weren’t on the up and up, she could be in terrible danger right now. Even if the were legit, she was in terrible danger. But he was working on correcting that one at least.

Myra. Myra Dennison.

Myra had been more than a prop to Marty. So much more. And he couldn’t save her. The last time he saw her kept replaying over in his mind like a bad film…

_She had just walked into the abandoned barn where they had first held up after breaking out of Saint Dympha, as Marty was peering out the back. “Okay, we’re about ready, to go, we just need to…” Her voice trailed off when she noticed something missing. Or rather someone. “Where’s the nurse?”_

_“I cut her lose.” Marty murmured so softly it was barely above a whisper._

_“You what?!” Myra balked, fast marching over to him. “Marty, what the Hell were you thinking?! She’s going to run straight for the nearest police station…”_

_“They were going to kill her if I didn’t.” Marty cut her off, peering outside the back, “Cost clear out front?”_

_“No one was going to kill her.” Myra protested, not processing the second thing he had said, “ Not yet anyway. She’s our only insurance if they catch up to us or the cops show up and---what do you mean is the cost clear out front?”_

_“We’re getting out of here.” Marty whispered, “The others have completely lost it, it’s going to be a blood bath.” He grabbed her by the arm urgently,” We have to get away, we have to warn someone…”_

_“Why would we do that?” Myra responded, “This is exactly what we want. That moron Anderson….”_ _Her voice trailed off for a moment, then began again, “Even if they know by now, which is almost a given, they’re gonna be reeling, this was the last thing any of them saw coming, they have no clue where we are, and there’s an even ten us. They’ll even see us coming.”_

_The horrifying realization that they weren’t on the same page was slowly starting to dawn on Marty. “You’re not…you’re not agreeing with them?” Sure, she had said some things when they first got here. After what had happened at Saint Dympha. But he never thought she was fully on board._

_He thought she would go with him. “You can’t tell me you_ don’t _.” Myra responded, “After what they did to you, to us… after what—what that bastard did to Vera. After what I did to him.” She sounded proud on that last note._

_Marty couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t Myra. “Killing Anderson was one thing.” Marty insisted desperately, trying to make her see reason, “He’d been inappropriate. That was self -defense. But this…”_

_Myra scoffed. “Inappropriate. I think Vera would use a bit stronger language than that.”_

_“Myra, please!” Marty pleaded, “Just listen to me! You are about to go out there and kill someone, D-David’s parents. The others’ parents. Your Mom.”_

_“You mean the people who ranched him for fifteen years then shipped him off when he did what they made him for?” Myra challenged, “The people who hurt them for money and acted surprised when the bombs went off in their faces? The woman who cares more about her atonement children then the one she was sending through the fire?”_

_“Myra, you know that’s not true---” Marty began. Mrs. Dennison loved Myra just as much as her blood daughters. He had seen it. “_

_Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know, Marty.” Myra cut him off, a threatening edge to her voice now._

_“Myra, please, just—come with me.” He pleaded, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm, “We’re free now. We don’t have to be the monsters they tried to make us—” “_

_That’s exactly what we need to be.” Myra almost shouted, reaching her arm from his hold, “It’s how we make them pay. “_ _She was grinning almost manically, shaking her head, and gesturing widely, “They wanted an army, well, they got it.”_

_Marty was desperate. There had to be a way to get through to her. “Myra, you don’t want this.”_

_Suddenly, Myra’s face turned to stone. “You know, I am sick of men telling me what I want. You, my dad, it’s just…” She charged, kicking out her leg._

_Marty felt a sharp, almost unbearable pain in his groin. Grabbing at the aera and closing his eyes, Marty fell to the ground, trying to pace his breathing._

_When could finally open his eyes again, Myra was standing over him, any trace of affection she might have held for him gone._

A harsh beeping drew Marty back to the here and now, causing him to jump and start looking around on instinct. The machine had run out of money again. Sighing, he searched for change. He still had things that needed to be copied.

_This one goes out to the one I love…_

Back at the motel, Fern and Richie had not made much headway in deprograming Beatrice. For the longest time, they all just stared each other awkwardly, until at last Richie spoke. “Beatrice, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Beatrice told him, almost numbly.

“Why are you so sure we’re destined to become like our originals?” Richie asked, “How did we get here?”

“When Dedalus’ guys picked me up and brought me to Goodwin, he explained everything.” Beatrice began, “Told me everything about Myra Hindely, what she and her boyfriend did. Played these types they made of the murders. There was this little girl… it was awful.” She closed her eyes.

Richie felt a lump in his own throat, which he swallowed thickly. “I can’t even imagine what it was like to hear that.”

She glared at him. “You’re right. You can’t. “She was quiet again, before finally speaking again. “They told me why it happened. Told me how they were both from Cain’s bloodline.”

“Wait a second, Cain’s bloodline?” Richie repeated, “W—Where did he get that from?”

“That’s what the experiment was about.” Myra elaborated, “To see if there was a gene that caused people like them to be…violent, evil. And they found it. He said they trace it all the way back to Cain himself.” “That’s…that’s not what Marty told us at all.” Fern said, for a moment wondering if they had been lied to.

“Not to mention completely inaccurate.” Richie declared, standing up, “Look, most hotels have a Bible, right?” He began to search the drawers.

“I don’t think this is a type of place people want to think about a Holy supreme deity seeing everything they’re doing.” Fern commented.

Richie continued searching for the Bible, “Look first off, yes, from a theological standpoint, no one can know for sure that Cain’s bloodline is completely wiped out in the flood, because we don’t anything about Noah’s female ancestors or daughters in law, because, some of Cain’s line could’ve repented for all we know, but still,” He found the Bible, but though about the passage he was going to show her, then though aloud, “You know what, never mind.” He then sat next to her on the bed, “Anyway, it’s a question everyone from rabbinical priests to theological professors to Christianity _Stack Exchange_ have been trying to figure out the answer to for centuries. What makes you think this guy finally figured out the answer? What proof did he show you? “

“Well, he didn’t really.” Beatrice admitted, “I mean he showed me these pictures with DNA markers, but I didn’t really understand them…”

“Did he show you how they traced this gene back that far?” Fern asked, “Like, some preserved piece of one of the first people on earth?”

“My dad’s wrong about a lot of things.” A child’s voice spoke up.

They all turned to where they had set Cole in front of the TV, but the child apparently lost interest, watching them. “How long have you been watching, us, buddy?” Richie asked, concerned.

“Just since you started talking.” Cole said, then turned his attention to Beatrice, “I wouldn’t listen to my dad. He’s wrong about a lot of things. You have to take what he says with a grain of salt. At least that’s what Marty says.”

“Does he now?” Beatrice responded skeptically. Considering he had kidnapped her and his friends were holding her against her will she would take anything _Marty_ said with a grain of salt.

“Yeah.” Cole answered, “Whenever Dad talks about Nietzsche, or ethics, or my mom.”

Cole looked down, “Dad says my mom was sentimental fool, but Marty always talks about how smart she was. How she loved to read. She’s the one who gave him this.” He held up a small book with a painting of two boys in a city on the front, _Oliver Twist_ sprawled across the cover. “I don’t really remember her, but I think Marty was right.”

A sober, horrified pall came over the room. Who would talk about a parent like that to their child? Especially when you were the other parent? “And I thought my family was dysfunctional.” Richie finally broke the silence in a hushed whisper, just thinking aloud.

“Wait, I thought you were in the control group.” Fern spoke up, confused by the statement.

“I was.” Richie said, “Apparently, Goodwin didn’t anticipate human nature. I’m starting to figure out how.” Though after hearing what Cole said, he felt bad bringing it up.

Beatrice swallowed and changed the subject. “You said Marty told you it was something different. What did he tell you?”

“You know what, why don’t I take Cole out for a bit while you explain it to her.” Richie suggested, getting up and herding the boy to the door, “Come on, bud.”

“But I wanna help.” Cole protested.

“Trust me, you will be.” Richie assured him.

As they stepped outside, Cole asked, “Richie, is Beatrice going to be okay?”

Not wanting to lie to the kid, all Richie could think to say was, “I hope so, bud. “

Cole’s face darkened. “My dad was going to hurt her, wasn’t he? “After a beat he added, “He hurt the others, too.”

Before Richie could respond, he saw a familiar figure walking that way. Sure enough, it was Marty heading that way. “What are you two doing out here?” The boy demanded calmly, as he got closer, “You were supposed to stay inside.”

“Fern’s telling Beatrice what the project was all about.” Richie explained, “Thought the little ears shouldn’t be around. Speaking of which, ah, Marty, can I speak to you alone for a minute?”

“I can handle it.” Cole protested, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, “I’m not just some dumb kid.”

Marty crouched down. “I know that buddy. But you shouldn’t have to handle it. That’s what I’m here for. So, why don’t you let me and Richie talk and then we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay.” Cole agreed reluctantly. When they were far enough away Richie began, “So, Cole’s been saying some things.”

With that, Richie told Marty everything Cole had told them about Dr. Goodwin, what Beatrice had told them, plus the comment Cole had just made to him. “Okay, it would take much too long to get into the gory details of the family dynamic,” Marty began, when the other teen finished, “But after my stepmother, Cole’s mom died, someone had to keep him from being ruined by Dr. Goodwin’s toxic worldview and…that fell to me. Also fell to me to do most of his raising.” The “good” doctor never had much time for his youngest son. It was one of the things that made Marty worry about what Cole had endured while he was locked away. “As for the others… Dedalus has had a week to get their act together. Beatrice’s probably not the only one he’s brought in for…Termination. He probably used similar stories with them to make them go along with it, if he could.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Richie breathed, rubbing his face wearily, “Do you think…”

“I don’t know.” Marty admitted, “I’ll talk to him about it later, try to help him through it.” He then headed the stack of folders to Richie, “These are the originals. I have to go.”

By the time Marty said goodbye to Cole and left, Richie, figuring that had enough time to explain everything took him back into the room.

“A bio weapon?” Beatrice repeated, “And you believe that?"

“Well, it makes as much sense as what Dr. Goodwin told you.” Fern insisted, “Possibly more.”

“Hey, there.” Richie called out, getting their attention, “How’s it going?”

Both women turned to look at him. “We’re…we’re working on it.”

Richie handed Fern the files while Cole went back to the TV. “Marty brought these by.” He told her, sitting next to Beatrice on the bed, “They’re the originals.”

“Thanks.” Fern replied, looking at the files like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Which she wasn’t.

Beatrice glanced over at Richie. “How are you so clam about this? I mean, you just found out you’re a clone of…. who are you supposed to be exactly?”

“Richard Ramirez.” Richie answered, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He wasn’t exactly able to read up a lot of his original, but what he had managed to study some of the crimes that earned the Nightstalker 19 death sentences, he felt sick to his stomach. “How can you okay with this?”

Beatrice got to the point. “I’m not okay with it.” Richie protested, “Ramirez was a monster and the way we were made was an abomination, but the fact is, we’re here now. And this is going to sound preachy, but my identity isn’t in Ramirez, or the Frankenstein wannabes who made us. It’s who I am in Christ. “He paused, looking at her earnestly, “And your identity isn’t in Myra---whatever her last name is.” After a beat, he added, “That ruined it, didn’t it?”

“Not really.” Beatrice said, then raised her eyebrow, “Are you trying to convert me or something?”

“Right now, I’d just settle for you not willingly walking to your own execution.” Richie answered.

After that, it was more staring, Cole staring at the TV, Fern and Richie staring at Beatrice. At last Fern stood. “Alright, I think I saw a vending machine by the pool. I’m going to go see if I can find something that passes as lunch. Rich, keep an eye on this one.” Their talk with Beatrice hadn’t done much good, and she was still very much a flight risk.

“Alright.” Richie agreed as she left, locking them in the room.

Once she was gone Beatrice finally spoke. “What did Fern mean when she said she thought you were in the control group?”

“According to Marty, they made two of each subject, or specimens or whatever you want to call ‘em, plus an extra third of four of them and divided them into three groups: A control group, brought up in a normal household, an experimental group the mimicked the environments that the specimens were brought up in, or otherwise were just abusive, and a self-aware group that knew they were clones and got …special clone training. Marty’s from that group, it’s why he knows everything. Well, not everything, for example, he doesn’t know how Peggy is short for Margret. For the record, I don’t know that either. I mean, those two names sound nothing alike. Like, who was the first person to call a ‘Margret’ Peggy? Was it like a case of mistaken identity or something and it just…stuck?”

Beatrice laughed, actually covering her mouth and snorting. “I don’t know.”

Richie smiled. It was good to hear her laugh.

Cole looked up from the TV. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ll tell you later, bud.” Richie assured him. As it got quiet again, Richie’s smile faded. “Listen, I know it’s none of my business, and I won’t press if you don’t want to talk, but, um, do you know…”

“I’m pretty sure I was in the experimental group.” Myra answered, looking down.

A dark, cold feeling came over the teens and all Richie could think to say was “Oh.” And he immediately began kicking himself for it. _Oh? She just told you she’s been getting the crap beat out of her and all you_ _can think to say is oh?!_

Beatrice bit her lip, her stomach churning. “My dad, he’s not…not a very nice man. Like the everyday someone gets hit and it’s usually me kind of not nice. My mom’s not much better….”

Afraid she was drudging up things she didn’t want to, Richie began, “Beatrice, you don’t…”

“No, no, I want to.”

Beatrice said, “At least I think I do.”

_You don’t look like you want to._ Richie though, worried, but let her continue just the same.

“My grandpa’s the worst of all.” Beatrice continued, “Him, I’m not going to talk about. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I…. I ran away….”

“And they dragged you back?!” Richie balked, horrified.

“No, I’ve been on the streets from over a year.” Beatrice told him, “Turns out they’ve been watching me the whole time. I guess to see how it goes. Richie I’ve…. I’ve done things….” She was starting to silently cry. “Hey, hey,” Richie cut her off, reaching out and pulling her into a hug, “That’s all in the past now. We’re going to take care of you now.”

All was silent for a moment as she smiled sadly, “Isn’t this the part where you say, Jesus loves me and paid for my sins or something?”

“Well, while that’s not untrue,” Richie began smiling back sadly, “I’d normally wait until I got to know you little better first.”

They broke the embrace and he realized, “I’m sorry, I should’ve….” Who knew how Beatrice felt about being touched?

“No, it’s okay.” Beatrice told her, “I…I didn’t mind.” She wiped her eyes. “What about you? You said something to Fern that things weren’t like they were supposed to be.”

“It’s nothing.” Richie assured her. Even from the tidbit he heard of Marty and Beatrice’s stories, he felt bad for complaining.

“Come on, I just bore my soul to you.” Beatrice pointed out, “Well, kinda.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Richie began, “After what you just told me, it seems…I don’t want to use the word trivial, but…” He sighed, then said, “Well, for starters, my parents divorced when I was six because my mom cheated on my dad.”

“Richie, that’s not trivial.” Beatrice told him. In her mind something like that was big, big deal.

“Well, no one ever physically hurt me, on purpose.” Richie countered, then, more so musing to himself, “Well, not until…” He looked down, then looked back up, “You might have picked up on the fact that I’m kinda religious.”

Beatrice smirked in spite of herself. “Yeah, yeah, I noticed.”

“Well, my parents, not so much.” Richie explained, “Dad was a seeker, Mom’s a…a secularist. Like the hard core sue everybody who so much as says ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes type of secularist. When I came to Christ a few years ago, Dad was supportive but…” He felt his stomach as he thought back to the memory, “You know, the Bible warns us that people are going to reject us, what it didn’t mention that it was going to be my Mom. Five days after my conversion. “Now he looked down, “Threw everything I had at her place out on the lawn when I told her and gave dad full custody the next day. We haven’t spoken since. I’ve tried to reach out I didn’t even bring faith up, but…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t have much hope that his mother would listen to him, he had hoped that least one day they could get past this and be a family again. But now they might never get the chance. And it hurt. So bad it was almost physical.

Now it was Beatrice that reached out, pulling him into an embrace. Richie went stiff for a moment, then gingerly hugged her back as the tears started to fall and they just sat there, sobbing together.

It was the scene that Fern walked in on. She started startled, but then stepped outside again, letting them have their moment.

After a rather unhealthy lunch of chips, meat sticks and honey buns, Cole, bored with the TV, took out a small, book and sitting on the bed, began to flip through it. “Hey, Cole.” Beatrice began, climbing onto the bed with him, “What’s you got there?”

“ _Oliver Twist_.” Cole answered, “Me and Marty where reading it when…when Dad sent him away. I thought now that he was back but…. everything happened.”

“Oh.” Richie responded, joining the pair on the bed and once again kicking himself. _Why do I keep saying ‘oh’ when people tell me their childhood trauma?_

Fortunately, Beatrice knew just what to say. “Hey, you know, I’m sure Marty wouldn’t mind if I read a little bit with you. Would you like that?”

“Sure.” Cole agreed.

“Where were you guys at?” Beatrice questioned.

“Chapter 14: A Thorn Seeks A Rose.” Cole answered, turning to the page.

And so, Beatrice began to read, both Cole and Richie listen rather intensely. “’I am the woman who you have heard of that lives among the thieves. Be thankful. Dear lady, that you had someone to care for you in your childhood. Be thankful that you have never known cold and hunger. I have lived in the streets, and I will die in the streets.’ I pity you! ‘said Rose. ‘It pains me to hear you.”

Just then they were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Management.” A man’s voice called out, “We’ve had some complaints about the noise.”

“I’ll handle this.” Fern said, heading to the door.

Beatrice slid off the bed. “Hey, mind taking care of this while I go to the bathroom?” She asked, passing the book to Richie.

“Sure.” Richie agreed, taking the book and beginning to read.

Beatrice walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She looked around and felt a thrill of hope as she saw a window above the toilet. If she could just get to it….

“I’m so sorry, we’ll tone it down.” Fern assured the manager before shutting the door. It wasn’t like Beatrice was screaming anymore. She actually thought they might be getting through to the kid.

As the man left, she shut the door and walked over, turning down the radio when she realized a certain someone wasn’t in the room. “Hey, where’s Beatrice?”

“Had to go to bathroom.” Richie answered, “I’m sure she’ll be right back.” With that, he went back to reading.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Beatrice had managed to climb up onto the toilet tank and pry the window open. She knew they all meant well. That Richie meant well. But it was hopeless. They were destined for darkness. One day he would see that.

She just hoped it wasn’t when he killed someone.

Cole was problem. If what he was saying was true, she couldn’t let him go back to Goodwin. On the other hand, she couldn’t leave him with two time bombs, even if one was his brother. Anonymous tip, maybe? She didn’t really know where she was, so at least she couldn’t give it up to Goodwin, but maybe the police could figure it out. Of course, finding Goodwin’s house again was also a problem. If she couldn’t find him, she’d do it herself, she decided. It was the only way to keep everyone safe from her.

She crawled through the window, bracing herself for the short drop.

In the bedroom, they could hear a thump and Fern knew that something wasn’t right. “I’m just gonna take a peek inside.” She declared, heading for the bathroom door.

“Fern, please don’t.” Richie entreated, “She’s never going to trust if we ---”

However, as he was speaking, Fern peeked her head inside, saying, “Everything alright in---” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was talking to an empty bathroom, which her eyes immediately began to dart around until she came to the open window above the toilet.

She immediately pulled her head back out. “She’s gone.”

Meanwhile, after doing a few evasive maneuvers just to be on the safe side, Marty was walking up to the percent they had seen Ellie in front of, trying to form what he was going to say in his mind, when suddenly two people came running out from behind the station, a slender-built man in a suit with short, clipped brown hair and a teenage girl in jeans and thin black hoodie, the hood up. He was dismayed to find he recognized them both.

As a kid he had memorized the stats on not only his, but all the originals. That included things like victims, profiles, even things like their family situations.

_“Why do they have different last names?” Myra asked, sitting in Dr. Goodwin’s study at age twelve, her long brown hair in a ponytail, ten-year-old Marty by her side, going through the flies on the originals. Or rather in this the notes on the original’s family. “I thought Whitely married the woman.”_

_“The son changed his name when he was twenty.” Marty answered, staring down at the photo of clean-cut man in his late twenties, “Had it legally done and everything.”_

_Myra chuckled._

_“What’s so funny?” Marty asked, confused._

_“I just thought of something.” Myra said, “I guess you call it the strange case of Dr. Whitely and Mr. Bright. You know, like ‘The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”_

_Marty chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” E_ _ven though it wasn’t a very good joke, the pair were laughing like idiots._

Marty looked up at the sky. Could this day get away worst?! He was starting to think whatever higher power governed the universe was out to get him.

Mary watched as Malcolm hailed a cab and he and Ellie got in. That’s when he caught sight of the tan car across from the station. In it he could he see a boy with thick black hair, and a slender a girl with dark brown hair and to his dismay found he recognized them both as well. In the back were two more people he couldn’t really make out. As the cab drove off, so did the car.

Whatever David and Waneta were up to, Marty knew it wasn’t good. Sticking out his hand, a cab pulled up. Stepping in, he pointed to the vehicle and requested urgently, “Just follow that car.”


	7. Girl Versus Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Malcolm questions his father about what happened in o three, he and Ellie are ambushed by the the murderous clones and come face to face with Marty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Warning: While not graphic (no blood or anything) but there is one fight scene that could be disturbing to some readers and an attempted rape of a minor.   
> On that cheerful note, late Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everybody!

“So, which one is this, exactly?” Ellie asked, trying to appear casual. Like she wasn’t scared.

“Dr. Martin Whitley.” Malcolm answered, looking out the window, “Also known as the Surgeon. “He didn’t say anything after that, weighing out how much detail he should give to Ellie, or if he should give her anymore. She had already been through so much. At last, he added, “He terrorized this city back in the 90s. Almost textbook sadistic sociopath, and a narcist.”

“Kind of like Bathory.” Ellie concluded, picking up on the ‘sadistic’ part of the sentence. “That’s what you said last night? That she was a sadist?”

“I did.” Malcolm reluctantly agreed, worried as to why she was making this comparison. “There are …vast differences thought. All Bathory’s victims were young girls, Dr. Whitely targeted both men and a women of varying ages, his MO was all about experimentation, Bathory was…well, maybe there could’ve been some…you know what, I honestly I don’t know enough about Bathory’s murders at this point to be having this conversation and I’m not sure it’s good for you anyway.”

“Not talking about her isn’t going to make her go away.” Ellie countered softly. That was what her mom would always say, whenever Ellie was upset about something but wouldn’t talk. _Not talking about it isn’t_ _going to make it go away._ Of course, talking about Elizabeth Bathory wouldn’t go away. No matter what anyone did, she would still be there. In her. But, there were other issues at the moment, anyway. “He’s on the list, right? Whitley? I remember there being an Martin on the list. And well, Dr. Goodwin’s son, his name was Martin.”

“He’s on the list. ” Malcolm confirmed, “ And yes, he’s Marty Goodwin’s original. Well, I would assume. Dedalus didn’t exactly have much originally when it came to naming you all.”

In spite of herself, Ellie smiled. Then the smile fell as she remembered the reason for the lack of originally. That and one other thing. “And they’re just going to let us in to see him?” Ellie questioned skeptically. Then it hit her. “Wait, this guy was a _doctor_?”

“A surgeon, actually.” Malcolm responded, looking at her now.

“Wow.” Ellie commented, “So much for the Hippocratic oath.”

Malcolm laughed, somewhat bitterly. “Actually, to hear him tell it, he followed the Hippocratic oath to the letter. Somehow.” Then he got to a more important subject at the moment. “And there’s no _we_ here. Only me. You’re waiting outside. Far away from the cell.” He wasn’t sure if he should even take her in the building. If it weren’t for the FBI being at the station right now, he wouldn’t bring her within a hundred feet of the place.

“No arguments here.” Ellie agreed. The last thing she wanted to do was be in the same room with a _serial killer_ even if Malcolm was with her. Then it occurred to her. “Wait, how do you—” Her eyes widened as she looked as his hand. “Bright, you’re shaking.”

Malcolm looked down. Yes, what Ellie called shaking, was the hand tremor. He closed his eyes for a moment. While finding the object of his quest hadn’t exactly hurt, it didn’t fix all his problems. Not by a long shot. He couldn’t believe he was back here _again_. And while he had no intention of bringing Ellie anywhere near his father, contemplating the fact that he was bringing a young girl with him wasn’t helping. But there a case to be solved, and Ellie needed answers about her mother. There was no room for fear with these things on the line.

Unfortunately, his hand hadn’t gotten that message.

“Nervous tick.” He tied, quickly hiding his hand and looking out the window to see how much longer that hand. Wasn’t that car following them earlier?

Ellie didn’t buy his excuse. There was something more going on his here. “Bright, you’re scaring me.” She hushed. She knew something was wrong. Something more than just being on the way to talk to a serial killer with the clone kid who dragged him into a conspiracy. Was he scared like she was? No way! This was what he did for a living! How bad was this guy if he had a friggin’ _profiler_ scared of him? Suddenly a sanario began to form in her mind: A woman with Malcolm’s eyes, struggling against leathern restraints, begging for her life, please, she had a son, a lumbering figure in a lab coat approaching with a long-curved knife…

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told her about his father. Well, the details. When he was back as his place with her. Maybe he was just trying to get her to safety quickly. Maybe it was because she was always going through so much the last thing she needed was his damage on top of it all. But…could it help her? To know exactly how much he got it? How much he understood what she was going through? That there was someone else out there who had almost the exact same fears she did? Turning back to face her, he opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly Ellie lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, Bright,” Ellie lamented, on the edge of tears, “I’m so sorry…” She knew what it felt like to lose your parent. Your mother. The ache. She knew what it was like to lose them in such a brutal way. The thought her friend going through that, too, killed her. And with what he had said about his father, who knew what his life was like after that?  
“Ah, about what?” Malcolm responded.

Ellie pulled back, whipping her face and trying to pull herself back together. “Losing your mom like that…You can’t do this. I can’t let you. You shouldn’t be alone in the room with that monster. He doesn’t get to victimize you again…”

“Loosing…” Malcolm began, then it clinked, “Ellie, do you think the surgeon killed my mother?”

“You just acting so weird,” Ellie reasoned, “And you know so much about the case but, you’re…you’re not old enough to have, what is that cop say, work it? I just thought…”

“What did I say that…” Malcolm began, “Never mind. Elizabeth, my mother is very much alive. The reason I’m acting like this is because …Dr. Whitley is my father and usually when I see him…well, let’s just say it never works out well for me.”

Ellie was silent, processing what she just heard. And still not processing. “Seriously?” After a beat, she processed enough to say, “But you have two completely different last names!”

“I had it legally changed before starting at Quantico.” Malcolm explained, “Quantico, that’s where they train federal agents. For the record, that plan didn’t work out so well.”

“Quantico or changing your name?” Ellie asked, in spite of herself. So many questions were running through her head now. That was just what came out first. “

You could probably say both, actually.” Malcolm responded.

It was silent again, Ellie rubbing her legs. “So that what you meant. When you said you knew what it’s like to be scared that there was darkness inside of you.” She shifted a few inches closer, but still kept a distance, staring at him. She just couldn’t reconcile the man who had come to her aid, who had saw her through the night, with the monster who apparently sired him.

“Yes.” Malcolm confirmed.

“Why didn’t you…” Ellie began.

“Time crunch?” Malcolm responded awkwardly, “The truth is, I’m not really sure why I didn’t say anything before. Maybe I thought you’d been through enough and---"

“Well, you did tell me your dad was evil.” Ellie pointed out. She just looked at him for a minute, suddenly feeling like she might cry for him again. She couldn’t imagine what it was like, living with that burden. To be defined by something someone else did. Well, maybe she could. “How old were when…”

“Ten.” Malcolm told her, seeing where this was going.

Ellie’s eyes widened. “People have been thinking this since you were ten?! Ten?! I mean, how can people… and you’ve been scared of yourself this whole time?”

Malcolm was at a loss for words. He wanted to lie, to downplay it. To shelter her from the truth. At last, he just said. “Yes. Sometimes, at least.” He leaned back in the seat.

Ellie’s heart broke. “I don’t think you should be. Scared of yourself, I mean. Ever.” She stopped then started again. “ I mean, I know we just met, but…you literally saved me. Someone like Whitely…I know, I’m not an expert, but…” She started doing a staring contest with the upholstery. She just felt so stupid. Why did she even open her mouth? “I think he would’ve just left me there. I mean, unless he wanted to kill me.” _Did I really just say that to guy who’s scared of becoming a killer?_ She thought, covering her mouth in mortified shock. “I …I didn’t…”

“I know.” Malcolm assured her leaning in closer so that their foreheads were touching. It was an oddly tender gesture, one that Ellie accepted. He looked her in the eyes. “I could say the same for you. About not being scared of yourself. You’re a good girl, Elizabeth Stone. And don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

There was moment of silence, then Ellie asked, “Do you think the cab driver is listen to any of this? Ga, he must think we’re nuts.”

“Ellie, this is New York.” Malcolm grinned, “I guarantee you if he’s listening, he’s heard weirder.”

Ellie burst out laughing and then Malcolm started laughing right along with her as they separated.

Eventually they made it to the Claremont, sending the cab driver on his way as they walked up the path to the imposing gray stone building. It might just be in Ellie’s head, but something about the place made her want to puke. No wonder her mother had ran out of this place.

“You don’t have to go in.” Malcolm told her, “In fact just wait out here. I’ll be back for you when it’s done.”

He began to head to the doors when Ellie grabbed his hand, saying, “Bright, no. I don’t…I don’t think this is good idea. We can find another way. Some way that doesn’t involve you being alone in a room with your creepy psycho murder dad.”

_Creepy psycho murder dad._ The phrase rang in Malcolm’s head. _That’s a new one_. It also drove home how incredibly _young_ Ellie was. And as she stared at her, her brown eyes big, she looked so young, and scared. “Ellie, it’s going to be fine. I’ve done this dozens of times and while it’s certainly not a fun experience, I won’t be alone with him. There will be a guard there, Dr. Whitely will be chained to the wall, we won’t even be allowed anywhere near each other. I’ll be perfectly safe and back before you know it, okay?” Assuming Martin didn’t decide to drag this out.

“You call your dad Dr. Whitely?” Ellie asked, something clicking inside her.

“Yeah, for reasons you’ve probably already figured out, we’re not exactly that close.” Malcolm responded, not sure where she was going with this.

“It’s just…that’s what Marty calls his dad.” Ellie explained, “Well, not Dr. Whitely obviously, but Dr. Goodwin….” Then it occurred to her, “Holy crap, if Whitley’s your dad, then that makes Marty your…”

“Let’s not go there, please.” Malcolm requested, “I’ll be right back.” He gave what he hopped was a reassuring side hug before walking in the building, turning back to make sure she stayed.

Malcolm walked down the tiny hallway to cell door, posture straight determined. The door opened and Martin was ready for him, shackled on the other side of the room, just as Malcolm had promised Ellie. “Malcolm, my boy.” Martin grinned, all honey, “Wonderful to see you again after so much time.”

After the whole fiasco with Endicott, things started coming out about the wannabe master of the universe like gunk on one of those poor strips. Malcolm hadn’t been bluffing about those three offices Endicott thought they didn’t know about. They tied to unsolved arsons, more unsolved murders, they even found an illiterate child with a woman old enough to be the man’s daughter. The fallout got the forensic lab to own to up ‘lab error’ in the Eddie Smith case in an attempt to cover their backside, saving Malcolm. It made the prosecutor afraid their was no way to keep a defense team from putting Endicott on trail, saving Ainsley. Martin managed to get himself put back away in Claremont, thought without all the privileges he had before. Between the pandemic and the lack of need, Malcolm hadn’t really seen him since he got back.

“Dr. Whitely,” Malcolm responded, getting right down to the reason he was here, pulling out a picture they managed to get off of Ellie’s phone—one without Ellie in it-- and holding it out, “Can you tell me if you recognize this woman?”

“Straight down to business?” Martin teased, “Come on, we haven’t been facing to face in what, almost a year? Tell me, how have you been? Did you ever…”   
“Dr. Whitely,” Malcolm cut him off firmly, “This is urgent.” He stepped right up to the red line and pratically shoved the picture into the killer’s hands, “Her name is Dr. Naomi Stone. She would have been here to see you in about o three.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “And you expect me to remember a visit from over a decade ago?”

“It would’ve been a memorable encounter.” Malcolm deadpanned, in no mood for his father’s crap. Though he had a point. Even a broken clock was right twice a day, he supposed. Plus, he sensed a surprising genuine bafflement. This was the last thing Martin had expected.

Meanwhile, Ellie was pacing in front of the front doors of the facility, looking back at them every few seconds to see if Malcolm was coming back. She shouldn’t have let him go in there. She should have fought him harder, begged harder. Done anything to make him turn back. He was just as scared of his father as she was! And now he was in there with him…

She was so lost in her thoughts she never noticed someone approaching her until a boy’s voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t turn around.”

Ellie froze, her heart starting to beat out of chest, panicking.

“It’s okay.” The voice assured her, “I’m not here to hurt you. In fact, I’m actually here to help. But I kind of look like … like one of them. One of the thirteen. You might want to brace yourself.  
 _Thirteen?!_ Ellie thought, her head spinning. When they came for her and her mom there was nine at the most, now there was thirteen of them?!

“Just turn around slowly.” The voice instructed, “Please.” Not sure if he was armed, Ellie did as she told, slowly turning around. “That’s it.” The voice encouraged, “That’s my girl.”

_Ellie felt a thrill of anger and annoyance run through her. “I’m not your---” Her voice trailed off as she saw the dark-haired boy standing in front of her, eyes widening in horrified recognition. “There you are.” The boy covering her mouth declared, his eyes filled with malice, “I thought we lost you…”_

“Get away from me.” Ellie demanded in shaky voice, taking a few steps back, raising it as she repeated, “Get away—”

Marty charged her, pinning her against the wall and covering her. “ _Sssh_. Look, I’m Marty Goodwin. The guy you probably think I am is Marty Chapman. I know, we look exactly alike, I get why you’re freaked out and I’m sorry for whatever he did to you, but we don’t have time for this. If I remove my hand are you going to let me explain?”

Knowing it was the only way she could get him to remove his hand, Ellie nodded. As he slowly removed his hand, she demanded, “How do I know that’s true? If you look exactly alike, how do I know you’re not him trying to lure me somewhere to finish the job?”

Marty had to admit, she had a point. “If I was Marty C. would I have this?” He held up the green stone around his neck,” Would I even know what it is?”

Ellie made a stunned, disbelieving face. “You kept that thing for eight years?”

“Not just that one.” Marty said, pulling out rough piece of light pink quartz, placing it in her hand, “I wanted to give it back to you, but—they wouldn’t let me see you. But enough about that now. You and your friend were followed from the police station. We should have incoming in three, two…”

Just then the tan car pulled up to the front gate, David stepping out.

“We have to go.” Marty declared urgently, grabbing Ellie by the wrist and pulling her along, murmuring, “What was he even _thinking_ bringing you here of all places….”

Ellie struggled against his hold, trying to pull herself free. “Get off me!” But it wasn’t much of a battle. Marty was good head taller than her with much more muscle, and managed to drag her around corner and force to the ground, hiding her from view, before putting a finger to his lips.

Meanwhile David had made it up the stairs and was approaching the building, taking out a phone. “Neta, it’s me. I managed to follow one of the guys from McNab’s. You’re not going to believe where he ended up…”

_If that wasn’t Waneta in the car…_ Marty thought, before whispering. “They have fourteen now.”

“No,” Ellie whispered, “It’s still thirteen.”

Back in the cell Martin was taking his sweet time examining the photo. “You know, I think I do actually remember her visiting, though she was much younger. And you’re right, it was a memorable encounter.” “Care to share with the class?’ Malcolm responded tensely. With a kid waiting for him out front, he truly was in no mood for his father’s game.

“You’re right, it was in two thousand three.” Martin confirmed, “She came in with a man Stephen…. something with an A. I don’t remember, it was a long time ago. “

“Atkinson?” Malcolm inquired, the bells going off in his head. The man that Dr. Stone had taken Ellie to. The man who, up until a few days ago, had seemed to cure her lung condition.

“Actually, yes, I think it might have been.” Martin responded, “Spoke with an accent. Texas, maybe, or Cajun.” He tried to divert the conversation, “What is this about anyway? Some new case?”

Ignoring him, Malcolm tried to steer the conversation back to why he came here. “What did they want?”

Outside, David had gone back to wait for reinforcements and a layout of the building, and Marty was pulling Ellie off the ground as the girl pulled out her phone. “What are you doing?!”   
He demanded. “Calling Bright.” Ellie answered, trying to find where had put his number, “We have to warn him.” As she continued to search, she was starting to come a conclusion she didn’t want to. “We may have to go inside to get him.”

What?!” Marty balked, “No, that’s playing right in their hands! Look, he’s a seasoned FBI agent, he can handle himself. “

Ellie managed to pull herself from his grip, exclaiming, “I don’t care, I’m not leaving him!” Then she ran off, heading for the front door.

“Ellie!” Marty called out, following after her.

Finally finding the number Ellie dialed it, still walking but putting the phone to her ear, “Come on, Bright. Come on…”

His own phone on vibrate, Malcolm didn’t register it going off, waiting for his father’s answer.

“They wanted samples.” Martian answered, “Blood, hair, saliva, even nail clippings. Kind of bizarre actually.”

“Did they say why?” Malcolm checked, not thinking they would, or at least that they made up a story, but wanting to be sure. “

No, they were very stingy with any information.” Martin responded, “And your Dr. Stone couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

_The door opened, and two people in lab coats stepped in. A man who must have been barely out of medical school with thick, neatly cut sandy blonde hair, his face emotionless, and a woman of about the same age, her own blonde hair back in a prim the bun, her face showing she clearly wanted to be anywhere but here, thought she was trying to hide it._

_“Dr. Whitely.” The man began firmly in a Cajun accent, “I’m Dr. Atkinson, this is Dr. Stone. Now, I believe the rules have already been explained to you.”_

_“I don’t talk to you, you won’t be talking to me except to give instruction, I try anything, maximum force will be used.” Martin recapped._

_“Good.” Dr. Atkinson said, before giving Dr. Stone a reassuring glance, “Now, let’s start with blood samples…” “_

Did they say anything about how they got in?” Malcolm cut him off, “How they got access to you?” He couldn’t have come all this way, dragged Ellie all this way, to get what he already knew. Meanwhile, Ellie burst through the doors of the sanitarium, still trying to get a hold of Malcolm, Marty hot on her heels. Caught off guard by the sudden entrance, the corrections officers at the front stepped out. “Excuse me, young lady—”

“I need to find Malcom Bright.” Ellie cut him off, “Please, it’s urgent. He’s here visiting an inmate, Martin Whitely, if you could just tell me where he’s at—” She was talking so fast her words were almost running together.

“Alright, slow down,” The officer urged, “First off, I can’t give you that information…”   
Marty looked out the window, and saw another car pull up. “We don’t have time for this. We need to---”

“We’re not leaving here without him, end of discussion!” Ellie exclaimed starting to get fed up.

“Well, I’d try that way.” Marty said, pointing to the left, “His eyes went that way when you said their names.”

It would have to do. “Thanks.” Ellie told the officer before sprinting down the hall, Marty right behind her.   
“You can’t just—” The officer began, before picking up his radio, “We got a situation up front….”

Back in the cell Martian was being frustratingly unhelpful. Big shocker there.   
“Your guess is as good as mine, my boy.” Martin told, “Now, if we could get back to---”

“We both know that’s not true.” Malcolm cut him off, “Even if they never gave you a name, you have to had picked up on something.” His father was holding something back, he knew it.

“Malcolm, trust me, after everything that happened last year, you really don’t want to know what I think.” Martin warned him.

“Don’t…” Malcolm began, his voice trailing off before he caught something, “Do you mean to tell me…”

Before he could finish the sentence, he was cut off by a loud banging on the door and a girl’s voice calling out of his name. He whirled around and found Ellie, desperately banging against the glass and shouting.

“Let her in.” Malcolm ordered, the guard, running for the door. “

Who is—” Mr. David began, thrown, but not so much that he forgot his job description.

“Just let her in, please.” Malcolm entreated. If she was here, then something had gone wrong. She didn’t even want him to come in, if she was banging on the door to get in, it meant something had seriously gone awry.

Something in Malcolm’s voice made the guard unlock the door and Ellie pratically threw herself through the threshold, shouting, “They’re coming! The thirteen. There’s thirteen of them, and they followed us and they’re here right now and they’re on their way, we need to go---"

In the frenzy, both of them forgot about Martin, who staring at the scene wide-eyed, sincerely surprised and confused. A situation he was about to rectify. “Malcolm, who is this?” Trying to keep the façade up, he added, “Good God, how young are police recruiting now a days?”

Hearing the voice, Ellie turned and froze, her heart stopping for a moment. After that, everything dawned on her in fragments. First, she was shocked by how --- if you factored out the sanitarium inmate uniform and the chains—how normal he looked. This was not the lumbering, scary mad-scientist she had pictured in her head. He was almost pathetic looking, really. Then the second fragment hit her with a chill and wave of panic. Less than five feet from her was an unrepentant monster who _murdered_ people for kicks, taking pleasure from their pain. And now he was honed in on her. It made her feel exposed, crippling vulnerable and _terrified_ , freezing her in place.

Immediately Malcolm stepped in front of Ellie protectively, murmuring in her ear, “Ellie, don’t look at him.”

Getting her bearings as much as she could, Ellie looked at Malcolm. “Did you get what we came here for?” “

I think so.” Malcolm whispered, beginning to usher her from the room, “I’ll explain on the way.”

That was when the alarm went off.

_Not this again_. Malcolm thought.

“I swear, this time I had nothing to do with it.” Martin deadpanned.

Outside, the officer Ellie and Marty had been talking to a few moments earlier was slumped on the ground, blood running down his head while thirteen teenagers ran around breaking windows, attacking anyone who came across their path, seemingly in a state of random destruction. At least that’s what seemed.

Hiding in the corner, David spoke into a walkie-talkie. “This is Beata to Charlie, come in Charlie, over.”

“This is Charlie, over.” A girl’s voice said.

“Any sign of them?” David asked.

“Not yet.” The girl responded.

Just then another voice came over, this time a boy. “This is Delta. I found something in the records. I think I know why they might have come here for.”

Marty, who had doubled back to access the situation, was listening from the corner. If they had the inmate records, it wouldn’t be too far a lept to figure which cell they were in. He had to do something before that happened.

“That’s gotta be them.” Ellie declared urgently back in the cell, trying to appear much calmer than she actually felt, “Any ideas?”

“Looks like you could be here for a while.” Martin spoke up, “As long as we’re stuck here you could …maybe explain who she is, who ‘them’ are,” He looked at Ellie, “You seem to know a lot about it, don’t you? Ellie, wasn’t it? Care to fill us in, El?”

“Don’t talk to her!” Malcolm snapped, before adjusting his body, shielding Ellie, almost completely blocking Martin’s view of her, but leaning in to discuss the situation to with Dr. David. “Okay, I can’t explain everything right now, but this alarm is because someone followed us here. Where’s the nearest emergency exit? I swear, I’ll get help.” He couldn’t just leave the innocent people who worked there—or the less than innocent inmates for that manner—to the mercy of the thirteen, but he was no good to them by himself, not with this many, and he had to get Ellie out of harm’s way. If they got a hold of her, they would kill her.

Martin, was certainly not happy not knowing what had caused the lockdown, though being able to make the mysterious girl who seemed to bring the chaos with her uncomfortable was some consolation. If he kept it up, he’d get something from her, he would know what was going on, and the world would be right again. “While teenage girls are certainly capable of murder, it’s highly doubtful my boy would bring a suspect in tow, seems like asking for trouble, so, what, witness? Did you see something you shouldn’t, El?”

“Hey!” Malcolm pratically shouted, “What did I say about now talking to her?! In fact, if you ever want to know what’s happening here, don’t even look at her!” He knew how crazy being out of the loop, out of control, had to be making his father, and it was the only leverage he had.

Martin turned his head, having the nerve to look miffed.

“I’m okay.” Ellie lied, “You don’t have to protect me.” She squared her shoulders, trying her best to look unaffected. It worked for a minute too, until a cough rose in her throat, coming out in wheezing harks. Martin turned his head back to the scene, putting on the charm. “Oh dear, that cough’s rather nasty. Have you had that looked at?”

“None of your business.” Ellie shot back, as Malcolm shot his father a look filled with contemptuous hate.

“Oh, come now,” Martin insisted, “I’m a doctor and you brought in a girl who is clearly sick. You can’t expect me to just stand here.”

“Some doctor.” Ellie spat in between coughs, “You kill people.” As she spoke her coughing got worst.

“Ellie, Ellie, don’t.” Malcolm whispered, standing right in between the girl and the monster, so that neither could see the other, “Don’t. Don’t give it to him.”

Ellie coughed again, sending a spray onto her hand. They both looked down and found, to their horror, dark red blood standing out against the white hand.

It was getting worst.

Just then there was more banging on the door, causing Ellie to jump.

“Ah, guys,” Marty called out, knocking on the glass, “We’ve got incoming.”

“He’s with me, he’s the one who warned me.” Ellie informed them urgently, “I’d have been a sitting duck if it wasn’t for him.” As they let the boy in, Ellie continued, “Malcolm Bright, Marty Goodwin, Marty Goodwin, Malcolm Bright.”

“I’d, ah, I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I was really hopping to never had anything to do with, ah huh,” He gestured across the room with his head, “Including, ah huh,” He gestured to Malcolm with his head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no problem I totally get it.” Malcolm assured him, heading for the door, “Now, come on.”

As they were supposing to be headed for the door, Marty actually stepped deeper into the cell. Malcolm turned around. “What are you doing? You’re the one who just said—”

That was when Marty pursed his lips and spat, letting out a lump of saliva that went straight in Martin’s face, right between the eyes.

As he whipped the spit away, the inner Martin Whitley came out, “Why you little—"

Instinctively Malcolm grabbed Marty by the arm, pulling his away, slamming the door of the cell as they ran, putting his back on it as he heard his father raging inside. “What was that?!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t always wanted to do that.” Marty countered. That was when they heard a commotion from down the halls, voices shouting and crashing. “They’re coming.” Marty declared solemnly. Malcolm surveyed the area and realized the only way to nearest emergency exit was through the attack. “Both of you behind me. Marty, you’ve had combat training, right?”

“How did you—” Marty began.

“We arrested Myra Dennison.” Malcolm explained, “She hasn’t exactly been the most cooperative, but we managed to get a few things. Alright, Marty, you get behind Ellie, Ellie, you stay behind me.” She was a civilian with no training. If anyone would be at disadvantage, it would be her. “Okay, now, just follow me.”  
“Wait, why are you in charge?” Marty demanded.

“Because I’m the only one old enough to vote.” Malcolm exclaimed, not believing they having this conversation, especially now.

They ran down at the hall just as four teens, Theo, Albert, another boy Malcolm hadn’t seen before, and a girl with pale skin and long black hair, ran down the hall. All of them armed. “There!” The girl shouted. The quartet charged them, managing to swarm them. Theo raised a crowbar to hit Malcolm, who managed to fend off the blow with his arm, as Marty grabbed the girl by the hair.  
“Sorry about this, Vera.” He told her, before punching the girl in the jaw with such force her head jutted up, and fell back, quickly losing consciousness, falling back into one of the boys trying to get to Ellie, sending him down as well.   
Suddenly, Ellie was grabbed by from behind, causing her to scream. As she kicked and failed, she could make out Malcolm calling her name and Marty shouting threats at her attacker, she was thrown into a room. “Hey!” A man’s voice shouted, when suddenly the boy paused his assault on Ellie to throw the man across the room, then whirled back around to Ellie, pinning her to ground by her wrist. Ellie opened her eyes and found herself staring back into the hate-filled dark eyes of boy a few years older than her with thick, dark hair. He took one hand off her wrist, shifting his weight she it was still impossible to fight back in any way other then wiggling, caressing her hair. “You’re so pretty. So, so, pretty…” Then he reached down, beginning unship of her jacket, “Myra wouldn’t let me do this, but, well, she’s not here, is she?” Ellie’s body went stiff as she realized what was about to happen. “No please…” She pleaded, the struggling becoming more desperate.

Something then caught the boy’s attention. “What are you looking at, old man?” He sneered when suddenly he was lifted off her into the air, someone’s hand at his throat as she struggled to get them off him. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground and all she could see was the white back of the person who had pulled his off, but she could hear him gurgling, struggling for breath.

“Stop it!” Ellie screamed, lunging forward and beginning to pound on the man’s back, “Stop it, you’re killing him!”

Suddenly the man whirled around, sending Ellie to the ground, revealing a now all too familiar person.

“That’s the idea.” Martin admitted, “I’m sorry, do you realize what he was about to do to you? Really, you should be thanking me.”

Ellie tried to back out of Martin’s reach, but he managed to crabbed her by the crook of both arms, hard. “Uh, uh, uh.” He tutted, “It’s time you and me had a talk, little girl. I have a few questions. Starting with who are you?”

Meanwhile, Malcolm and Marty had their hands full in the hall, as two others joined Theo and the other boys in the wall, jumping straight into the fray.

“Did you see which way he took her?!” Malcolm asked, just as one of them jumped on his back, hitting at his shoulders. Grabbing his attacker by their wrist, he pulled them off of him, pinning him to the ground, and freezing at what he saw.

His attacker was a girl, fifteen, thin face framed by long brown hair that pulled up, one streak of purple in her hair. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Ellie. It wasn’t like he didn’t know they were identical, but seeing Lizzie in the flesh was something different.

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice one of the boy coming up behind him a Taser he had taken off one of the guards. Fortunately Marty did, managing to sock him in the noise and Malcolm got out of the way.

Lizzie scampered to feet, running the opposite direction of the fight. “Lizzie, you coward!” One of the boys shouted, running after her.

Marty kicked another boy in the groin, giving him a free path. “Go!” Malcolm shouted, “Find Ellie before…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He might not know much about Elizabeth Bathory, but he knew all about the Boston Strangler.

Half dead on the floor of Martin’s cell, Albert was the least of Ellie’s problems.

“First my son shows up asking about an encounter I had over a decade ago.” Martin recapped, “You show up a five minutes later all Hell breaks loose…”

Ellie’s mouth gapped, staring at the half-dead boy on the floor and the unconscious guard in the corner.

“Hey!” Martin snapped, shaking her, “Look at me when I talk to you! Now, you don’t have Malcolm to hide behind anymore, _so you better start talking_. “

Suddenly she got an idea. It was crazy, but maybe it might work to get him to let her go. “You’d hurt your own granddaughter?”

Martin laughed. “Yeah, because Malcolm would’ve been like…”

“Sixteen.” Ellie cut him off, “ Already gone through puberty. Old enough to get a girl pregnant. They went to school together, she never told him, moved away. Thought he had enough problems. She never told me who my dad was until she got sick and I needed somewhere to go.”

“You called him by his last name.” Martin challenged.

“I’ve only known him a few weeks, sue me if I’m not calling him Dad yet.” Ellie quickly covered, “He didn’t want to bring me here, but things got out of control and…well, here we are.” After a beat she added, “If you hurt me, he’ll never forgive you. You’ll never see him again!”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Martin seemed to agree, appearing shocked, letting go of her arms, “My dear girl, I’m sorry. Yes, I see now, you—you look so much like your father…” Then he began laughing hysterically, “I’m sorry, I can’t, I just---nice try little girl. I mean, you actually had me going for a minute, but, one, while for obvious reasons I was not that involved, I know for a fact he went to an all-boys school, two, I know how my son feels about me. If he suddenly found he had an illegitimate love child the last thing he would do was bring that child here, no matter what was going on. In fact, he’d sooner die then let that child know I exist.” However, Ellie’s deception had given him an idea. “Though I think you are somebody’s daughter. Perhaps the doctors my boy was asking about. The man was certainly protective enough of his college.” He grabbed Ellie by her hair, eliciting a scream of pain. “So, tell me, Ellie Atkinson,” He hissed, “What did Mommy and Daddy do that caused all _this_? “

That was when Marty brush in, running right for Martin, hitting him in the jar force he fell to the ground, unconscious, dropping Ellie. \

“Pro tip.” Marty began, offering Ellie a hand up, “The jaw is the knock out button. Hit the jaw and they’re down for the count. Did he—did either of them hurt you?”

“No.” Ellie said, shaking, “Where’s---”

“Still tangling with the others.” Marty told her, “Gave me a chance to get to you. Come on.”

Outside, Malcolm was starting to lose the fight, still outnumbered three to one, and distracted by the two kids in his care currently in danger. As he landed a blow, one eye darted down the hall, causing his to miss the other boy until he punched the profiler in the kidneys, causing him to double over in pain as the other kicked him in the stomach for good measure, two points of immense of pain. Just then there were two sets of footsteps running towards them and Malcolm suppressed a scream as his arms were painfully wrenched behind his back, his wristed forced into something hard, plastic, zip ties maybe?

“Careful.” David ordered, “We need him in decent shape if we’re going to get a good deal.”

_So that’s it._ Malcolm thought as he forced back to his feet, one of his captor’s holding him be the arms. “You think you can trade me for Myra.”

“You better hope for your sake we can.” David threatened, before punching Malcolm in the jaw hard enough to knock him out. Marty and Ellie burst through the cell door just in time to see the gang carrying Malcolm away. Ellie opened her mouth to shout, but Marty covered it.

“Don’t.” He whispered, “There’s too many of them. We can’t help if we're dead.”

The remaining teens still acting as a distracting with the chaos, the boys were able to drag Malcolm down the adjacent hall, Theo throwing open the emergery exit, causing even more alarms to go off as they ran for a waiting car, David tossing Malcolm into the trunk and slamming the lid shut before jumping in the back. “

Drive!” He ordered before speaking into the walkie-talkie. “Retreat, we are a go. I repeat, retreat, we are a go.”   
Marty and Ellie got to the exit just in time to see the car disappear into a could of dust. “No.” Ellie spoke, shaking her head, her heart plummeting, “No. They…he…” This could not be happening.

“Ellie, it’s okay.” Marty told her.

“How can you say that?” Ellie balked, “All he did was try to help and now…” He looked over to Marty. “They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?”

“No.” Marty told her, “No, I don’t think so, not yet anyway. You said they arrested Myra, she was the one holding everything together.” Yes, he could see that clearly now. “And David won’t just leave her. So I think you came after your friend to use as a prisoner exchange.” He looked to Ellie, “So, feel up to a rescue mission?”

Ellie thought about Malcolm, trust up in that car. He wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her. He had done this to help her. If she could save him, she had to try. “Oh, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m not really sure I should be adding some of these details about what happened between the finale and whenever this story takes place. I mean, some of the details I added in earlier chapters have already been jossed by the trailer. (Probably should’ve watched them first.) But I didn’t really see a way around the ones I added in this chapter.  
> Anyway, I’m ranting sorry.   
> Thanks for reading as always! Hoped you enjoyed it.


	8. Teenage Wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Malcolm held hostage by the thirteen, Ellie and Marty launch a rescue mission. Meanwhile, Gil finds an unexpected ally in the form of a nerdy federal agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still don’t own Prodigal Son, also don’t own 'Hallelujah' by Leonard Cohen ‘Run Through The Jungle’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival, ‘You Oughta Know’ by Alanis Morrissette, ‘How To Save A Life’ by The Fray, ‘The One I Love’ by R. E. M., or ‘Church Bells’ by Carrie Underwood.

JT was sitting on the opposite side of the street from Godwin’s house. So far, nothing had happened. He hadn’t even caught sight of the clones they knew were in there.

Clones. Serial Killer Clones. It got simultaneously funnier and more horrifying every time he thought about it. What was the plan anyway, when they arrested the kids? What was going to happen when they had to make this public record?

JT’s ruminations were interrupted by a call. Checking the ID, he picked it up. “So far I got nothing, Boss. I haven’t even seen Martin Goodwin or Myra—Beatrice—whatever her name is.”

“There might be a reason for that.” Gil responded urgently, “We arrested one of the suspects, she let it slip that Goodwin plans on getting rid of the evidence. He brought that girl there to kill her. We need to get in there, now. On my way to you.” _If it’s not already too late._

Just then a black van pulled up to the house and professionally dressed woman with long brown hair got out, a fairer brown haired teenage boy with her. She knocked on the door, the boy by her side, his head down.

“We might not have time for that.” JT said, opening the door, “Someone just pulled up to the house, there’s boy with her, late teens.”

The door of the house was opened, and Iris, the housekeeper, ushered them in.

“Hold on,” Gil urged, “If Myra- Beatrice- whatever is any indication, he won’t do anything immediately. I still don’t want you going in there alone, not with this much unknown.”

Gil was there in less than five minutes and together they marched up to the front of the house, guns drawn. They knocked on the door. “Dr. Goodwin, NYPD!” Gil shouted. No response. “This is the police, we need you to come to the door right now!” The policemen exchanged looks, both considering whether or not they had enough probably cause to break down the door. A child was clearly in danger, so…

They second away from kicking in the door when Iris opened it. “Excuse me…”

“NYPD.” Gil cut her off, holding up the badge, “Where is your boss and the kid?”

Iris stepped back. “Dr. Goodwin, you might want to get down here. The detective is back and he’s brought a friend!”

Dr. Goodwin came walking down the stairs, cool, calm and collected, as if he wasn’t in the middle of a crisis of his own making. “ Ah, detective. I’m assuming this has something to do with the Halleys.”

JT got right to the point. “Where’s the kid?”

“What kid?” Dr. Goodwin responded.

“The kid I saw let here less than five minutes ago.” JT elaborated.

“I assure you , I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dr. Goodwin played dumb.

JT glanced over at Gil, who in turn took a calculated risk. “We know what your real interest was with Elizabeth Halley. We know she didn’t have COPD. We also know she’s not that unique, if you get what I’m saying.” _Please don’t make me say the ‘C’ word._

Dr. Goodwin froze for a moment. “I see.” He said, “I believe I may need to speak with my attorney.”

“Good idea.” Gil responded, “But in the meantime, why don’t you make it easier on yourself and hand the boy over. Your son and Myra Myers too. Or Myra Nicks, whichever one she is.”

“Once again, I don’t—” Dr. Goodwin began.

“We know about the plan to Terminate the project.” Gil cut him off, “And we know it means terminating the kids.”

“If I did know what you were talking about, I’d have to point out that they can hardly be called kids at this point.” Dr. Goodwin, “I mean, apparently you know about the body count they’ve racked up. I’d also tell you that my son drugged me, locked me in closet and took off with both his brother and Miss Myers. I have no idea where they are, but I assure you, they’re in more danger from him than they are from me.” “And you didn’t think to call the police?” Gil questioned in disbelief. He really couldn’t believe this guy on so many levels.  
“Hypothetically, I think you know why I didn’t.” Dr. Goodwin pointed out.

“And the boy I saw brought in here, hypothetically?” JT questioned.

“Feel free to search my house.” Dr. Goodwin offered, “I assure you, you’ll find no one here but me and my housekeeper.”

“Well, that didn’t go at all like I thought it would.” JT said as they left Dr. Goodwin’s house, empty handed, “I swear, boss—”

“I believe you.” Gil cut him off, “I just don’t know how he hid him.” Just then his phone rang. Seeing it was Dani he picked up. “What’s happened?”

“We have unexpected visitors…” Dani began.

When Gil walked back into the station, there were two women in front of his office, a woman with her long ebony hair pulled back in a pony tail, dressed in almost white, the other Agent Swanson.

The woman in white stepped forward. “You must be Lieutenant Arroyo.” She began, extending a hand to shake, “Katherine Branch, FBI.” As they shook hands she kept talking. “I am _so_ sorry to bother you, but I got word one of your people had called the locals about this case I just got and I was hopping we could talk. Agent Swanson here was gracious enough to show me the way. Apparently you’ve all worked together before?”  
 _I don’t know how much you could call it ‘worked together’_. Gil thought, but said, “Yeah. Uh, agent, why don’t we step in my office for a moment?”

As they stepped into his office Gil shut door. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you.” Agent said almost instantly, very polite, sitting down.

It actually made Gil feel a little awkward. That and perhaps he was bit frayed from this interruption happening in the middle of this _Twilight Zone_ spec script they found themselves in and the sinking feeling that it was related to it. “So, um, when you say one of my people was looking into an FBI case…” He began, sitting down across from her.

“I just got it.” Agent Branch explained, pulling out a picture, “Dr. Naomi Stone, genetics professor at Syracuse Community Collage, found dead four days ago, daughter Elizabeth, missing. While local police were processing the house, they found Dr. Stone’s home office ransacked and some dairies and files that well…they don’t really make that much sense. They were worried they might have stumbled upon some kind child trafficking ring or even a homegrown terror operation, so they asked the feds to come down, that’s about the time I come in, and someone told me just before I got here a Detective Powell was asking questions. Now, I’m not looking to step on any toes, get in the way of any investigations, but nothing about this case is making sense, and we have no leads and there’s a missing kid out there. Whatever reason your people were asking questions about this, if you found anything, anything at all that could help me figure out who did this and bring this girl home, I would greatly appreciate it. Please.”  
Gil examined the agent in front of him. From what he could tell, she seemed sincere, but he couldn’t just tell her the truth. But at the same time, lying to federal agent was just a bridge too far. Maybe she could even help. However, there was also the fact that woman who last time they encountered her built a blackout fortress to keep them out of the investigation was waiting right outside. He decided to try to get some more information out of her. “Agent Branch, may I ask exactly what was in the journals and files that is causing such confusion?”

“The journals had a lot of notes on her daughter.” Agent Branch answered, “Charting her growth, notes on an issue with her lungs she apparently had when she was younger, there even some things that I think are psychological notes, I’m not sure, that was never really my strong suit, and there was also these…personal notes. She keeps talking about regrets, what have we done, the last entry of the last one we have is just…an apology to her daughter. For what I don’t know, but that’s how the child trafficking theory got floated.” After a beat she added, “Again, things like aren’t really my strong suit.”

Gil was silent for a minute. “Agent, what does the name Elizabeth Bathory mean to you?”

“I have no clue who that is.” Agent Branch admitted, “Is she—involved in these cases?”

“You could say that.” In less than a second, Gil again decided to take a chance. “Agent,” He began, getting to his feet, “I have another one of Dr. Stone’s journals. If you read that, I think things will become clear.” _Or you’ll have us all fired for mental incompetency._

Gil wasn’t sure what he expected Agent Branch’s reaction to be when she read the journal, but it wasn’t how she reacted.

“They did it.” She declared, stunned, walking around Gil’s office with the journal in her hand hands, “They actually did it. Oh, this is…amazing… and outrageous. I mean, what were they thinking? What could they have possibly….what possessed them to….”

“Wait, you actually believe this?” Gil balked, surprised at how easily the agent was expecting this.

“Long story short, I have a background in genetics, and this science is sound.” Agent Branch explained, “I’m a bit surprised they were not only actually able to successfully clone everyone on this---did they successfully clone everyone on this list?”

“From what we can tell.” Gil confirmed.

“But to make clones from DNA this degraded and them actually survive for any significant amount of time.” Agent Branch finished.  
“Well, they weren’t completely successful.” Gil told her, “We think Ellie’s lung problems are the result of…being made from unstable DNA. And the problems are back. Just this this morning I saw the kid nearly cough up a lung.”  
Agent Branch blinked. “Ellie? You mean Elizabeth Stone? She’s here?”

“Well, not right now.” Gil admitted, “When the feds showed up our consultant took her and left.” \

“Right,” Agent Branch agreed, taking a few breaths, “That was smart.”

“It was?” Gil responded, surprised to see a federal agent praising what could be called interference in a federal investigation.

“Lieutenant, there’s a reason human cloning is such a controversial issue.” Agent Branch responded, “From a legal standpoint, it’s not certain she has any rights.”

A look of surprise flickered across Gil’s face for a moment. “What do you mean she might not have rights? She’s still a human being no matter how she got here.”

“That hasn’t exactly stopped society in the past.” Agent Branch pointed out, “The law can be slow to catch up to reality sometimes….” Then it hit her, “Wait, you have a consultant?”

“Let’s table that for now.” Gil requested, “There are some more things you need to know.”

So saying, Gil explained the rest of the story. Saint’s Dymphna, the killing spree going down the coast, the girl they apparently didn’t need to mirandize down in their interrogation room.

Agent Branch leaned on Gil’s desk for a moment, quiet. “Lieutenant Arroyo, would be opposed to a joint investigation?” She asked finally.

“Not at all.” Gil told her, “If anything, I’d welcome the resources. For obvious reasons we haven’t been able to tell anyone about this so it’s been just the five of us doing everything. Thought with what you just told me about the possibilities that these kids might not even be people from a legal standpoint…”

“Yes, of course.” Agent Branch agreed, breathless, “This doesn’t leave this station, no one knows but you, me and your people. Well, maybe I should brief Agent Swanson. If I just rush her out, she’s going to want know why, and... she’s a profiler, right, I mean I’m sure your guy’s more than competent, you wouldn’t have him around if he wasn’t, but on something like this two couldn’t hurt, right? And you’ve worked together before, right?”

“Yeah, about that…” Gil began slowly.

However, Agent Branch’s mind was already shifting gears. “Can I see her? Myra Dennison, the one you have in custody? Can I just—take a look?”

Gil and Agent Branch watched Myra from the two way mirror, as she had been alone in the interrogation room since Malcolm left, staring at the lights and singing to herself. _“And every time you speak her name_ _does she know how you told me you’d hold me ‘till you died? ‘Till you died, but you’re still alive…”_

“She’s been singing that song on and off since we brought her in.” Gil told the federal agent, then realized she wasn’t listening. “Ah, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Agent Branch apologized, in awe, still staring at Myra through the mirror, “It’s just…she is so beautiful. A beautiful, miraculous abomination.” Realizing she was doing it again, she said, “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is one of the biggest scientific breakthroughs in history, the realization of years of speculation, but simultaneously the most insidious breach of ethics since the David Reimer case. It gives a girl some serious whiplash.”

That was when it hit Gil. _Of course._ Agent Branch felt the same way about genetics that Malcolm felt about profiling. And she was at the center of major scientific achievement. But an achievement that should shock anyone with a recognizable moral code and an understanding of the issue none the less.  
Just then there was knock on the door and Dani poked her head in. “Boss, we have a problem. I just got a call, something’s happened at Claremont, Bright was there when it happened and now he’s not answering his phone.”

_He’s staring at the gun in his hand, not sure how he can even hold it steady. Everything inside him is screaming, shaking in an explosive cocktail of rage, grief, and horror. All caused by the man in front of him. It happens in a matter of seconds. One moment Endicott’s doing his villain rant he when suddenly he’s cut, no pun intended, off as Ainsley, who had been standing behind him lunges with a knife, slitting the fiend’s throat and stabbing, and stabbing, many more stabs necessary to kill a person, much less incapacitate them, before Malcolm has any time to react, to grab the knife, to stop her. Then just as suddenly…she stops, freezing in place, staring at him with stunned, glazed over eyes and blank face, spattered with blood._

_Only it isn’t Ainsley anymore._

_Ellie stares at him with that same look, covered in blood, not just speckled as Ainsley had been, but smeared with gore, like she’s Carrie at the prom. No, like she tried to_ bathe _in the stuff. She was quiet, then got out, in a monotone, scared voice, “What…just happened?”_

_“She wasn’t bathing in it.” Malcolm protests, barely registering that Ellie had spoken, “And Endicott was no virgin…”_

_Then it isn’t Ellie anymore._

_Staring back at him is his own face. L_

_ike it should have been in the first place_. Malcolm jolted awake, hitting his head against something hard. He closed his eyes and opened them again, finding himself in almost complete darkness, except for a crack of light that let him see enough to know he was probably in the trunk of a car. His body ached all over and he could feel something hard and plastic cutting into his wrist.

_How—_ He thought, then suddenly it all came flooding back to him. Knowing he had to get out, he starting kicking at the inside of the trunk, trying to get free.

As they drove down the road, his struggle was starting to shake the whole car.

“I think he’s come round.” Theo spoke up from the shotgun seat beside David.  
David sighed, putting the car in park behind grimy, dull gray building that had clearly seen better days. At least they had already reached their destination. “Ian, get the blindfold.”

As he realized they had stopped moving, Malcolm froze, stopping almost mid-kick. Listening intently, he could hear three sets of feet walking around to the trunk, and David saying, “You’re gonna want to ice that jaw. Hey, can you handle any injuries?”

“Sure,” A voice said, female, Malcolm through, then she said something he couldn’t make out.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” David said, the footsteps continued towards the trunk which was suddenly open, the sunlight forcing Malcolm to closed his eyes for a moment. When he was able to take the sunlight and open them again, he saw David in the middle flanked one either side by boy who had kicked in the stomach, and Theo. This was the third time encountering Theo, Malcolm noted to himself. Whatever the chain of command was, Theo must be pretty high up in it. It seemed an odd choice to the profiler as Ted Bundy wasn’t the genius killer the media painted him as. At best he was average intelligence and skated by on charm and inter-state cooperation between law enforcement at the time being lacking. Perhaps Theo displayed more skill?

They worked wordlessly and fast, Theo grabbing the sides of Malcolm’s head so he couldn’t put up much of a fight as David tied a strip of black cloth around his eyes and the third boy, put something sticky, duct tape probably, over his mouth and he was roughly pulled from the car and to his feet, what felt like the barrel of a gun shoved into his side. It was all a matter of seconds.

“You feel that?” David whispered threateningly, “Try anything and I shoot.”

Malcolm counted the seconds until they were inside. Even with bound captive struggling to stay up right, it was less than a minute before the door shut. Then his captors half pushed, half dragged him up a flight of stairs, then another. Wherever they were this was probably the second story. Finally. he was forced to his knees, the gun removed, then someone took off the blindfold

They were in a grimy, gray room with no windows and one way out, an entryway with no door, questionably lit by buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, flickering slightly. It was just David and Theo now, Theo pulling out a phone while David reached down into the inside of Malcolm’s rumpled jacket, searching until he found his wallet and pulled it out, unfolding it. “Malcolm Bright,” He read aloud, as if apprising the name. “Well, Detective Bright,” He began, again, folding the wallet and pocketing it before leaning down and ripping the tape off of Malcolm’s mouth, “You’re going to help us make a little video.”  
When the team and the agents arrived at Claremont, you could say it was Bedlam. The police closets to the institution had cordoned off the scene, and there several ambulances.

Just as they were walking out of the building, a stretcher was being rolled out with a beaten and bloodied teenage boy with dark hair. Dani’s eyes moved with the stretcher, lighting up in recognition.

“Boss, that’s one of the kids that attacked us at McNab’s.” Dani declared, turning her body to follow the descent of the stretcher, “At least I think it is.”

“Try to go with him in the ambulance, keep an eye on him.” Gil instructed.

“Lieutenant, she can’t just—” Collette, now mostly brief on the situation, began to protest.

“It’s his squad, agent.” Agent Branch cut her off.

Just then, a guard Gil recognized from that disastrous Christmas was wheeled by, followed by a nurse with a slash across her face.

“What on Earth happened here?” Agent Branch gasped.

Just then Gil’s phone went off. Having a gut feeling, he reached for it and pulled up the message, his heart sinking into his stomach when he saw the thumbnail attached to the text.

In what may be the last secluded, quiet spot left at Claremont at that point, Gil and the agents huddled as Gil pushed the picture of Malcolm, on his knees, and the video began to play. “My name is Malcolm Bright,” He began, his voice steady, clam even, but somewhat ragged, “I have not been harmed. If you want my freedom, Myra Denison needs to be released from police custody by midnight tonight. An hour after she’s safe and my captors are sure she wasn’t followed, I’ll be released. If these demands are not met, the new recruits use me for practice.”

With that, the video froze, ended.

Meanwhile, Marty and Ellie were hunkered down in a cyber café with a paper map of the city, covered with red sharpie Xs, circles, and a laptop curtsey of t

he establishment. “I’ve been trying to track Myra and the others for a week, but they’ve always managed to stay one step ahead of me. “Marty was explaining, “Then between you, and Dr. Goodwin and Beatrice—” “Who?” Ellie cut him off.

“She’s one of us.” Marty explained, “One of the good clones. Well, the non-murdery ones. She’s in a bad place right now, she’s not talking this well. Anyway, the point is, I haven’t had as much time to find where the thirteen have held up as I’d like, but I’ve been able to narrow it down from the other short-term hideaways they’ve used. We’re looking for some place secluded, out of the way, somewhere no one can find them, but they can still quickly reach the location of their targets. “  
“Marty, look at this city.” Ellie pointed out, “It’s cramped with people. Where are they going to find a place like that?”

“I’ve lived in this city my whole life,” Marty countered, typing away at the lab top, “There are some…less nice places of town where they could find what they’re looking for. The kind of place where people don’t see things. They’ve also been squatting in abandoned buildings every time, so that also narrows it down. Of course, with what happened to Myra we have to consider the fact that they could’ve moved. And they need somewhere they can keep a hostage with no one being the wiser and minimum risk of him escaping. Thankfully, I don’t think they know who he is, like fully who he is, but not doubt they’re assuming he’s cop, so…”

Ellie’s eyes darted around the room, worried someone was going to hear. “Um, should we really be talking about this casually and normal speaking levels in a public place?”

“Ellie, looked around, “Marty told her, gesturing with his head around the room, where all the other patrons had their noses in lab tops, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. “I could stand up on this table and shout our identity and no would even realize I spoke.” Then he turned back to the lab top, “Now, using that I’ve narrowed it down to about six location, but half of them are scattered far apart around the city, so I think I’m gonna have to call in reinforcements. You still have your phone?”

Ellie handed him the phone and he dialed the number of the burner he gave Fern. After several moments of dial tone when he heard the pick-up noise and Fern’s stressed voice saying, “Please, tell me you’re not calling because something’s gone wrong on your end.”

That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?” Marty asked.

“Okay, long story short, Beatrice snuck out through a window while I was talking with the manager.” Fern explained, talking fast, but not so fast she couldn’t be understood, “We think she’s trying to find her way back to your dad’s. We’re looking for her, but—so far we haven’t been able to find her.”

Panic running through him, Marty pratically lept form the table. “Hold on, I’ll be right there, tell me where you are.” “What?” Ellie balked, getting up as well. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Marty said before, hanging up and turning to look her, “Change of plans. Beatrice bolted; we need to find her before she does something stupid.” He started gathering the supplies they had actually bought with them off the table.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ellie interjected, stepping in front of him and making a sign of the actual sports term as she added, “Flag on the play. We got a mess of our own here. Bright’s still out there. And from the sound of it, don’t you have people already on this?”

“I have three people, one of whom is six, and she has a head start.” Marty reasoned, “Look, I’m just being rational, here. Bright’s got time, and if Beatrice gets to Dr. Goodwin or ---tries to put matters in her own hand, it’s over for her.”

“We don’t know for sure how much time he has, or even if he has any time, you’re just speculating.” Ellie argued, starting to get worked up, “For all we know, they could be slitting his throat right now!”

The room went quiet as several patrons and every employee on duty turned to look at the teens.

“It’s part of online roleplaying game we’re part of.” Ellie lied with surprising ease. Being on the run was apparently making her decent criminal. As everyone went back to their business, seemingly convinced, she lowered her voice as she added, “Look, I may not know a lot of about police work, but I know they’re not in the business of letting out murderers. Wouldn’t it be more rational to divide our resources between each person?”

“We don’t have the resources for that.” Marty insisted, “David may not have been the brightest, but he’s not a complete idiot. He knows it’s going to take time to get a prisoner released. I’m sorry about Bright, really, I am, but Beatrice has to take priority here. Now come on, we’re wasting time as it is.”

He began heading for the door again, walking past her. Boiling inside, Ellie clinched her fists, pratically shouting, “You’re _that_ cold? You’re so cold you’ll leave your own nephew to die?!” Malcom had asked her not to go there, but there, she said it. If Marty walked out now, he was abandoning his own flesh and blood.

“He’s _nothing_ to me!” Marty snapped, whirling back around.

Ellie felt like she had been shot for a minute, standing there, shocked. “Well, if that’s really how you feel about it---give me the map.” She thrusted it out her hand to take it, though the map hadn’t even been offered.

“What?” Marty balked, not processing.

“If you won’t help me, I’ll find him myself.” Ellie explained, clearly mad, “Give me the map.”

“Ellie, there’s still at least twelve of them.” Marty argued, “You can’t—”

“Give. Me. The. Map.” Ellie repeated, through gritted teeth.

“You’re behaving like a child.” Marty told her.

“Oh, if you don’t give me that map and I am going to have a temper tantrum.” Ellie informed him bluntly.

Marty sighed. “Fine.” He slapped the map in her hand and then turned to leave.

However, before he left Ellie had something to say. “You know, you say you want nothing to do with him, but right now, all I see its Whitley.”

Now Marty froze, feeling like the one shot. As Ellie set down to look at the map, he stared at his reflection in the window. She was right. Picking who lived and died. It was exactly what Martin Whitely did

. No. He wasn’t picking who lived and who died. He was picking who was _worth_ saving. Like his own father.

_“You foolish woman!” He could remember Dr. Goodwin screaming at Gwen, heavily pregnant, as he watched on, hidden behind the staircase, “Did you even read any of the material I gave you?!”_

_“You mean the outdated rubbish from the 1960s you cherry-picked off of_ Wikipedia _?!” Gwen shouted back, an armed wrapped protectively around her swollen her stomach, as if she was afraid her husband was going to cut her open to get rid of what he was viewing as a ‘problem’. “And yes, I did my own research, actual peer-reviewed research! And—”_

_“Ha!” Dr. Goodwin scoffed mockingly, “I’m surprised you even know what that word means!”  
“I won’t do it, Charles.” Gwen said firmly, standing her ground, “We both know you can’t make me.” _

_“Have you even thought about the quality of life this child will have?” Dr. Goodwin hissed._

_“Who said life was suppose to be easy?” Gwen challenged, “I think we both know this about_ your _quality of life, not Cole’s.”_

_“You got me.” Dr. Goodwin responded, “I don’t want to waste my life rearing a child that is going to be absolutely worthless!”_

_In spite of himself, Marty let out a gasp._

Marty looked down at his clinched fist. Cole wasn’t worthless. And neither was Malcolm.

Ellie was looking at the circle spots on the map, trying to figure out how she was going to get there and what she was going to do when she found them, when she felt someone sit down next to her. She looked up and, to her surprise, found Marty. “

He means something to you.” Marty offered in explanation, “And he’s a person. We’ll save him, I’ll just let the others know I’m not coming then we’ll start the search here.” He pointed to the closet circle on the map, “But we’ll need to gather supplies first. How opposed are you to B and E?”

Malcom was still on his knees in the empty room the teens had stashed him in. After David and Theo had made their little ransom video, they recovered his eyes and replaced fresh duct tape over his mouth, taking his shoes and socks for good measure, before leaving him alone in the room. Every so often he could hear footsteps that stopped at the doorway. They were probably checking in to make sure he hadn’t freed himself or hurt himself in the process. Rather as a bargaining trip or practice dummy, they needed him in one piece for the moment. He had been working to loosen the plastics ties on his wrists when he was certain he was alone, but whoever had restrained him knew what they were doing. However, there was one unexpected advantage.

His captors had missed the vent on one side of the room, and that it carried sound. He was currently paused, listening to fight between David and one of the other clones, a girl called Waneta, likely a genetic copy of Waneta Hoyt, a woman who had to have one of the worst cases of Munchausen by Proxy on record, considering it altered the course of medical history. From what he could gather, she was second in command with Myra out of the picture. And she was not happy about how the raid at Claremont hand gone down.

“That was a disaster, David!” He could hear Waneta exclaim, “We got dozens of minor injuries, Vera’s lucky she didn’t have her jaw busted---what was Marty even doing there? How did he even find us? I thought we lost him at the state line?”

_Okay, so something went down between Marty and others._ Malcom noted, _Then why is he following them? And what was he doing back at Goodwin’s._ While he had saved them at the institute—they would have been sitting ducks if he hadn’t warned them, Malcolm would give him that—he wasn’t entirely sure the boy was on their side yet. Not sure what his angle was. And that thing was Martin, spitting in face—this kid was reckless, impulsive.

“Not to mention we lost Albert B.” Waneta continued, before David could answer, “What exactly happened there? I still don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.” David admitted, “All I can tell you is that by the time they got there they found Albert half dead and Whitley and his guard unconscious. There wasn’t any time to finish those two off before you ask, cops were starting to arrive.”

“Okay, so, likely sanario Whitley attacks Albert.” Waneta speculated, “But then who attacks Whitley?”  
Malcolm’s ears perked up a bit at that. Albert took Ellie back there?! And what was this about his father being attacked too?

“No idea.” David admitted, “It’s his own fault though.”

Good. No mention of Ellie or Marty. They didn’t even seem to know they were there. That meant he probably got her out, at least out of that cell. Of course, that also meant Ellie was now alone with him. Malcolm began to piece together a tentive theory of what happened. David was likely right about his father attacking Albert. If Marty had come for Ellie, maybe he saw Martin as a threat and attacked him. Or Martin had been threatening Ellie. _That_ particular notion sent Malcolm’s heart in his throat.

“What?” David was saying, “Don’t look at me like that. You know what he did. If we had got him back, I’d be tearing his back open right now.”

So, Malcolm had been right to be worried. He could only hope that the attack on Albert had happened before he could actually hurt Ellie. But this was something he needed to add in. Or rather the fact that for whatever reason, a rule had been set against sexually assaulting victims. A rule that was harshly enforced. Maybe it was suppose to be a form of mercy. A line they decided they weren’t going to cross. Not all killers were rapist, after all. Maybe it was part of Myra’s military obsession, since he could only assume that ‘tearing his back open’ referred to some sort of flogging.

“Look, we may have taken some hits today,” David began, “But at least we got what we came for.”

There was a moment of silence then Waneta demanded, in a voice from which Malcolm could pratically see the disgusted look on her face with his mind’s eyes, “Have you even listened to a word I said? This isn’t exactly what I’d call a victory.”

“It is if we get Myra, back!” David snapped.

There it was. The reason for all this. _You better hope for your sake we can._ The words rang out in Malcolm’s brain. Myra was the one holding this whole operation together, or at least that’s how David viewed it. And considering how much things had gone awry with her out of power for less than a few hours, maybe he was onto something.

Waneta let out of sigh. “Do you really think it’s going to be that simple, Dave? The NYPD isn’t just going to negotiate with kidnappers, let alone, give into their demands.”

So, Waneta was the realist of the bunch. Good to know.

“ David, look at me! You’re going to have to accept the fact that Myra isn’t coming back, and you are going to have to step up and take charge. With her gone, you’re the oldest, at least out of what’s left of us. I know it’s hard. She was my friend, too. And I know you wanted more than that—”

Suddenly David got defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I see the way you look at her.” Waneta told how, “How you would get when she and Marty were being all couple-y…”

Of course! In spite of everything, these were still teenagers with teenage reasoning skills, teenage invincibility fable, and teenage hormones to go along with it! And the self awares had been raised together. It really shouldn’t surprise Malcolm that there was a couple in the group.

Just then, he could hear them walking out of the room, taking the argument with them. Back to working at the zip ties, Malcolm guessed.

Meanwhile, Marty was looking into the chamber of Dr. Stone’s derringer, while Ellie watched him from the bar where it had been left that morning. The gun was still fully loaded, well-oiled, plus, older models like these were less prone to jamming. “Your mom had good taste in guns.”

Marty’s original plan had been to go to one of those less nice places he had talked about where he knew guns could be bought without the legal rigmarole, when Ellie mentioned she had her mother’s. While not a savory idea, breaking into Malcolm’s apartment to get it was less dangerous than dragging the inexperienced girl through the skeevy parts of New York, and, even when they pooled the money currently on them, they were low on funds.

“Uh, thanks?” Ellie replied, not sure how to respond to such a compliment. He watched as Marty began rummaging through the kitchen, “What are you doing?!”

“Seeing what he’s got in the way of knives.” Marty answered, pulling open a drawer, “I’ve been trained with a gun before, but we can’t just leave you walking around unarmed, can we?” He pulled open another drawer only to find the most basic of basic cutlery. He rubbed his face wearily. There were some basic daggers in the weapons case across the way. If the kitchen was a bust, maybe he could get that open. “Getting my gun is one thing, but that’s _his_ property.” Ellie protested, “We can’t just steal—”

“Not stealing, just borrowing. “ Marty protested, “I fully intend to give it back and we’re doing it to save him anyway. Can’t be that mad about it” At last he found a stake knife that looked like it could do some damage if properly wielded. “Ah ha!” He held the knife up in in victory before hurrying back over to Ellie, thrusting the hilt into her hand. “Okay, quick combat lesson. You’re gonna want to keep a tight grip on this, hold the knife away from your body. Now, you’re small, but you can make that work for you.” He began moving the hand with the knife around, imitating fight moves, saying, “This is something you have to remember: The most lethal place to stab someone bigger than you is in the ear. Through the hole, not the lobe. Lobe’s just gonna make them madder. Are you understanding this?”

“Most lethal?” Ellie repeated, “As in can kill someone?” She was quiet as Marty nodded. “I don’t…I’m not sure I can do that.” The idea of killing someone horrified her. Terrified her. It was the one thing she had been trying to avoid.

But what if she _could_ do it? What if she could do someone?

Marty wasn’t sure what to say. In the end, he said, “Okay, let’s go over some non-lethal measures you can take before we go, but we have to be quick about this…”

Back in the makeshift cell, all was silent, just Malcolm, working at the zip ties and putting everything he knew now together in his head. There had to be something he could use to defuse this situation. Of course he would actually need contact with his captors to actually do that and they weren’t about to let that happen…

Just then he heard footsteps coming his way again, except this time it was accompanied by a voice. _“…Everyone thought they were Ken and Barbie, but Ken was always getting way too drunk. Saturday night after a few too many, he came home ready to fight, and all that money could never save Jenny from the Devil livin’ in his eyes….”_

Was that…singing? Yes, that was a singing. A girl’s voice, and her steps were slow, pausing. Like she was nervous. She had never done anything like this before. Who knows, if they picked her up after Saint Dymhpna’s, she might not have so much as even jaywalked before they tore her life apart. But what was the singing? Some sort of copping mechanism maybe?

_“It was all bruises covered in makeup, dark sunglasses. And in the next morning sitting in the back pew praying with the Baptists…”_

Was she part of the experimental group? Maybe she knew someone personally who had the Devil living in their eyes. Maybe no one had saved her either.

_“She could hear the church bells, ringin’, ringin’. And up in the loft that hole choir singin’ singin’. Fold your hands and close your eyes. Yeah, it’s all gonna be alright. Just listen to the church bells, ringin’ ringin’, yeah, they’re ringing.”_

Then something strange happened. As the footsteps got closer, the singing got softer, as if she didn’t want him to hear her. _“Jenny slipped something in his Tennessee Whiskey, no law man was ever gonna find. And how he died is still a mystery, but he hit a woman for the very last time…”_

Ah! There it was! The brute gets his comeuppance, the battered wife gets her revenge. Just like thirteen were trying to do.

That was when something that had never before happened. The footsteps didn’t stop at the doorway. The footsteps walked into the actual room. The singer wordlessly walked up to him and suddenly he felt the tape being ripped away, quick, but painful.

“Sorry.” The girl whispered, a wince in her voice, as Malcolm felt something cold, covered with plastic placed over his jaw where he had been hit, which he could already feel starting to swell. “This should help with the swelling.” She told him, “I brought some water, too.”

Suddenly, Malcolm could fill the rim of the bottle being pressed up to his lips, and almost instinctively be began to suck, gulping down the cool water, suddenly aware of how thirsty he had been. “Thank you.” He breathed. He paused then added, “You’re the girl Marty tangled with, back at Claremont?” He did hear David tell someone to ice their jar back in the trunk, and thinking back he could remember Marty punching a girl in the jaw, and now there was girl icing his jaw to help with the swelling. The he thought he could remember Marty apologizing to her, saying her name. “Vera, right?” If her name stuck to the a pattern that meant she was cloned from Vera Renczi, a Romanian serial killer who poisoned her husbands, lovers, even her son with arsenic, storing them in zinc-lined coffins in her wine cellar. The sister of a poisoner singing about a poisoner. She didn’t respond, but put the bottle back up to Malcolm’s lips, which he drank from gratefully. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you were hurt. “ He was saying that pratically to identify with her, pratically because it was true, the imagine of her hitting the ground suddenly replaying in his mind. She couldn’t be more than what, fifteen? Sixteen?

“It wasn’t that bad.” Vera told him softly, “It’s just a little sore. Really, the ice helped. How—how’s your jaw doing?”  
“Better now.” Malcolm assured her, “ You’re right, the ice helps. I, uh, heard you singing in the hallway. Nice voice. What—what was that?”  
“’Church Bells’.” Vera answered, adjusting the ice, “Carrie Underwood. You like her?”

“I’m more into the older stuff.” Malcolm admitted, “I mean, it was good…wait, isn’t that the ‘Jesus Take The Wheel’ lady?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Vera answered.

“I think she might have something of a split personality.” Malcolm noted.

Vera giggled. All was quiet for a moment when she said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. None one was supposed to get hurt. No one who didn’t deserve it.” Her voice sounded like it was on the edge of tears.

“You mean the scientist on the project.” Malcolm guessed. “They lied to you, arranged for you to be hurt, locked you away when you all you did was what they wanted in the first place, am I right? Were you there at Saint Dymphna? Or did they pick you up along the way?” His question was met with silence. “Vera?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you.” Vera blurted out, “ Not about that. The others won’t like it, and when we give you back, you could…”

“Vera, that’s not going to happen.” Malcolm informed “You’re not letting me go. “ He shook his head, “I’m not getting out of here alive.”

“No.” Vera protested, “No, when they let Myra out… “

"They’re not going to let Myra out.” Malcolm told her gently, “She’s committed or has been involved in at least ten murders. They don’t let people like that out, no for anything. And the NYPD most certainly doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers. “ He hated being so blunt about it, so harsh, but he knew he could get through to her. She wasn’t like Myra. She wasn’t cold-blooded, not as dedicated to the cause. It wasn’t with us or against with her. She hated the idea of person she viewed as innocent being hurt. “So, why don’t you give a commended man his last request, and help me put these last pieces of the puzzle into place.” With that went silent, the ball in her court.

“You…you really think that?” Vera asked.

“Vera, I’ve worked in law enforcement for all my adult life.” Malcolm told her, “I know how these things work.”

Vera had to take a minute to composure herself. “I… I had been at Saint Dymphna for six months when it happened. I found at my boyfriend was cheating on me so I confronted him about it and he said some… some really mean things…I pushed him in the lake. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t even that deep and I pulled him out, but when they called Dad he showed up with these men in white uniforms. They took me Saint Dympa’s. That’s where I learned about the others. What we are.” She went silent again, bringing a pall with her, not that the atmosphere had been very pleasant before.

Malcolm couldn’t take it anymore. “What you are is a scared, confused teenage girl with bad taste in boyfriends and a bad father. Not some…monster or whatever they told you they were. They don’t control you.”

“No, no, you weren’t there.” Vera protested weakly, “You weren’t there when Anderson let us out…”

Malcolm clung to one detail for dear life. “Anderson? Who’s Anderson?”

“One of the doctors they kept on staff to monitor us, train us.” Vera explained, “He was fired for…trying to hurt a girl during the physical.”

He didn’t have to ask her to elaborate. He got the picture clearly enough.

“When he was clearing out his stuff, he stole an access card, opened all the doors on our ward.” Vera continued, “It was crazy. Everyone was just…and then Myra… Anyway, we regrouped at this barn and everyone started talking, they were so mad, and I got mad with them, and…”

“That’s when you decided to make them pay.” Malcolm finished, “Make them pay for what they did to you.”

Vera didn’t answer, then suddenly she was sobbing and apologizing again. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Malcolm told her, “Somehow I get the impression that this wasn’t your idea.”

“No, but…”Vera’s voice trailed off as she got an idea, “I can talk to David. Get to find another way, get him to cut to lose. Don’t worry, you’re not dying if I can help it.” Then he could hear her beginning to hurry away.  
“Vera, _no_ !” Malcolm shouted, causing her to stop, “Vera, I’m sorry, that’s not going to work. But if you really want to help, there’s something else you can do…”

“Well, that was bust.” Ellie said, walking out of the abounded building with her arms wrapped around herself. They had just checked the second building on the list and so there was no sign anyone had lived there in a long time. She was starting to feel a little hopeless.

Marty made an x through the circle on the map. “We still have four places to check. They’ve got to be in one them.”

“Speaking of which, what exactly is the plan when we find them?” Ellie asked. There was still at least twelve of them, there was little doubt in her mind they had some sort of weapons, and there was only two of them with one gun and knife and she could barely wield.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Marty admitted, “And I have a plan, but you’re going to think it’s crazy.”

As they took the subway to the next spot, Mart explained his plan.

“You’re right,” Ellie declared when he finished, “That is completely insane.”

“I know it’s a long shot.” Marty admitted, “ But it might be the only way. You up for that?”

Ellie knew Marty was right. His plan was nuts, but it was the only one they had. Plus, he hadn’t even wanted to go after Malcolm in the first place, so she figured he owed him. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

Marty nodded in agreement and the pair just sat there in somewhat awkward silence for a good minute, Ellie looking off. At last, she said “Thank you, for doing this. For helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Marty tried to brush it off.

“No, I mean it.” Ellie told him sincerely, gratefully, “And I’m sorry, for what I said earlier. You’re nothing like---like that _thing_. I shouldn’t have said that. “ Now that she had time to clam down she realized he was just concerned about his friend, and rightly so. She had been unfair.

Marty looked down, unable to meet her in the eye. “No, no, you were right. I _was_ acting like Whitley. No, what I was acting like was _my_ father. That call I made back there was the exact same one he would have made, even if the reasons were different. Dr. Goodwin would have reasoned out that while Bright’s brilliant, and in good physical health, his mental instability would count against him, even if they’re not biological factors, and at this rate he’s unlikely to pass on the traits that deem his worth saving in Goodwin’s eyes. You can always train another profiler. Plus, he doesn’t think phycology counts as ‘real science’, anyway. Meanwhile, at this point the experiment would be set back if we lost a clone, years worth of data gone. His vanity would play into it, too, though he’d never admit it. Likes to think he’s so above it all.” Suddenly it’s all came pouring out, “When my stepmother was pregnant with Cole, Cole, that’s my little brother, he’s with the others, Dr. Goodwin insisted on all the prenatal testing that could be done, and the downs test came back with a false positive.”

Ellie’s heart sunk, remembering what she read hours before. That felt like days ago now. “I read a few of your dad’s papers. I know his feelings about _that_.”

“Then you can probably see where this going. “Marty responded, “He wanted her to terminate the pregnancy immediately, but she refused. It was her baby, she didn’t care if it was disabled, they would figure it out, but he just kept putting---pressure on her. She finally shut him up my threatening to tell about me, she had put it together years ago, that’s why he married her in the first place, but he was still just so—hateful to her. The stress made her go into labor a week and half early. Even when it turned out the test was wrong he still—he still just couldn’t get over the fact that someone had dared defied him. Gwen didn’t even make it to Cole’s first birthday.” He was silent for a minute, then he said it. The one terrible thought that he had never articulated out loud to anyone. Not even Myra. “I think my father killed her. Like, literally, premediated, killed her.”

Stunned and disturbed by the whole story, Ellie didn’t know what to say. What finally came out was. “W-why?”

“Do you mean what exactly makes me think he killed her or what do I think his motive was?” Marty questioned, then answered both questions, “Even with everything Dr. Goodwin put her through, Gwen was in prime physical health, barely in her thirties---and she dies of a heart attack? And he would know how to make it look like a heart attack. I think he thought that if she felt like it was her only option, she’d reveal the project. She wouldn’t want to see me hurt, so it would be the nuclear option, but—it made her a risk. And I think she was harder to control than he anticipated.

” Not knowing what else to do, horrified and feeling for the boy beside her, Ellie put her hand over his in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

The rest of the journey to the next suspected hide out was taken in silence. When they arrived they pressed themselves up against the building and ducking under a window, Marty peaking inside. Suddenly he saw a shadow move. “I think I got movement.”

“You sure it’s not a rat this time?” Ellie whispered.

That was when Theo and David came into view.

“Oh, it’s definitely a rat.” Marty hushed, “The human kind.”

“What?” Ellie responded.

However, instead of answering, Marty got up and hurried towards the door, Ellie trailing him. “Stay behind me, just in case.” Then he went up and knocked on the door incessantly, calling out, “Guys, it’s me, open up! We really need to talk! Come on, guys, David, Neta—”

Suddenly the door was thrusted open by an angry David. “You got a nerve showing up here.”

“I came here to call a truce.” Marty said, “We’ve got bigger problems right now.”

“Like what?” David sneered.

“They’ve started termination of the project.” Marty informed him, “They’re killing us. They’ve already gotten at least one.”

That revelation got them both inside, David and Theo leading them into a room with a ratty coral colored couch against the wall, plastic milk crates all over the place, and a metal table in the center, and four others—Lizzie Hadley among them-- milling about. Wrapping an arm around herself as if that could protect her, Ellie couldn’t help but stare at her double.

Lizzie met her gaze. “Whoa. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror.”

“Guys, give us the room.” David ordered, “And someone tell Waneta to get down here. Stat.”

The others reluctantly did as they were told, though Lizzie kept looking back at Ellie. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes on off the girl either as she walked out the door. That was her sister. Her sister who killed her own parents.

“I know.” Marty whispered, “I know.” Turning back to the table, he caught sight of the files of the table, his eyes widening as he saw two of them. “No way. You got—”

“They’re my gift to Myra when she gets back.” David cut him off, “Your little, ah, friend back there, she told you they arrested Myra, right?” The look he sent Ellie was as venomous as a snake.

A new wave of fear hitting her, Ellie stepped back.

“David, remember what we agreed to.” Marty warned him, “And yes, I know. She’s okay, by the way, all things considered, at least that’s what Ellie told me.”

David scoffed. “Cause Ellie’s such a good friend.”

Just then Waneta rushed in. “What’s going on? Theo told me you just let Marty in with Elizabeth S. like—” Her voice trailed off when he saw the boy, freezing.

“Waneta, you look well.” Marty greeted the girl somewhat awkwardly, “Nice to see you found your contacts.”

Waneta glared at him, seething. “After what you did you think you can just—”

“They’re started termination, Waneta.” David cut her up, “He wants to call a truce to deal with it.”

“Oh.” Waneta responded, “I see.” She walked over to one side of the table as David sat down, “You might want to sit down.” This was directed at her former friend.

Marty sat down in the chair across the table, Ellie huddling close to him, but standing, mirroring Waneta and David’s position at the table. “Is Vera okay?” David asked, “I _really_ didn’t want to do that. Not to her.” “Save it.” Waneta spat, “Last time I saw her she was icing her jaw. Your handy work, wasn’t it?”

Marty downcast his eyes, hatting himself for having to that. One week ago, they would have been united on protecting her. Protecting any of them that had been in that place. What happened?  
Waneta got back on topic. “So, when you say they’ve started termination—”

“I went Dr. Goodwin’s when I got to the city.” Marty explained, “See if they started yet, plus I knew you’d show up there eventually. Myra Myers was there when I got there. She had just been told, wasn’t taking it well. If I hadn’t shown up where I did…well, you know. According to Cole there’s been others, I don’t have an exact number. I’ve been kind of busy.”

David looked like he was going to be sick and Waneta rubbed her forehead. “What do you suppose we do?” David asked, earning him a glare from Waneta.

“You’re not gonna like it.” Marty warned, “It starts with that cop you snatched at Claremont. He’s still alive, correct?”

“What’s that got to do with this?” David asked. “We need to turn ourselves in to the cops.” Marty declared.

“ _Starting_ with letting Bright go.” Ellie added.

Everyone went quiet for a moment. “Are you freaking serious right now?!” David balked finally.

“Guys, this is going off the rails.” Marty cut him off, “You’re _losing_ clones, maybe as we speak, and they’ve already got Myra. If you cuts deals against Daedalus, maybe—"

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Waneta lamented, “I really can’t. You’ve—you’ve gone native. You think you’re one of them. It’s not happening, Marty. It’s just—not.”

Marty looked to David, who he realized was the one in charge now.

“I’m with her.” David informed him, “End of discussion.”

“What was the point of letting us in if you weren’t even going to listen…”Ellie demanded.  
“Ellie, please.” Marty cut her off, before addressing the others, “Look, up until a week ago, we were friends. Surely, we can come to come kind of compromise.” He glanced over at Ellie, the adding, “How about you at least let her see her friend? As a show of goodwill.”

Neither of them answered, but David stiffened and Waneta balked.  
“Look, I don’t get it either.” Marty responded, “But she’s worried about him. Just—let her see that he’s alive. There’s thirteen of you and two of us. What could we possibly do?”

David stood up from the table. “Give me a sec.” He walked away from the table and then called out, “Lizzie, get in here a minute.”

Lizzie stepped into the doorway and all Ellie could do was stare. “

Take Ellie upstairs to the cop.” David ordered, “Watch ‘em, make sure no one tried anything.”

Lizzie gestured with her head, ordering Lizzie, “Come on.”

Ellie was once again frozen in her spot, staring at the stranger with her face who staring back at her with a hard glare. It was all just too insane.

“David, this is cruel.” Marty began to protest.

“No,” Ellie insisted suddenly, finally getting her feet to move. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

“This way.” Lizzie told her, almost emotionless, nodding with her head and leading her away, while the others turned back to the business at hand.

They walled in silence, Lizzie leading the way to the entry way and up the stairs. The whole time, Ellie just kept staring at the back of her head. Her hair was longer, pinned in a smooth ponytail like it had been in the picture Malcolm and Dani had showed her, with the purple streak, but that was just about where the differences ended. They had the same face, same build even.

Lizzie paused as they got to the break in the stars. “You’re staring.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just this –” Ellie began, “This is just beyond.”

Lizzie finally turned around. “You’re telling me.” As the pair took each other in, it occurred to Ellie that her mirror image was also the image of a killer.

_You don’t know that._ Ellie scolded herself, _Remember what Bright said. They didn’t know for sure._ Then again, she was there with them. That had to say something.

Lizzie turned around and began to walk again. “Ask it. I know you want to.”

Ellie swallowed thickly. “Did you do it? Did you kill your parents? Your brother?”

“Parents, no.” Lizzie answered bluntly. “Connor, on the other hand… “ She broke into a cruel, toothless smile.

Horrified, Ellie bit back a gasp, wide-eyed.

Lizzie stopped again, whirling around, sending the other girl back serval feet. “Don’t look at me like that.” She spat, “You have no idea what that monster put me through.” Suddenly she back the shoulder of her blouse, revealing a scared that looked like some kind of bite. “You see this?” He was helping get me dressed one day and I was being cranky, so he _bit_ me so hard it drew blood. He was seven. I was two. I only remember it because my parents would retell the story and _laugh_ about it. She pulled back so hair and revealed another scar on her forehead. “This was from where he would keep digging his fingernails into me, over and over again, when I least expected it. When I’d complain, mom would just go ‘stop it, your brother loves you’. She unbuttoned the bottom of her shirt, revealing yet another long scar across her abdomen. “This is from where he tried to _cut me open_. I was four. There’s a dozen more stories, and couple dozen scars to go with them. Trust me, I did the world a favor. If it weren’t for me, he’d be the serial killer one day. I’d probably saved countless lives.” She turned around and began walking up the stairs again.

Ellie followed, stunned into silence. At last she found her words. “Your parents never did anything to stop him?” She was an only child, but she figured if your older child was _torturing_ the younger one, you would intervene.

“ _Hmph_.” Lizzie muttered, with a bitter scoff, “Look up ‘enabler’ in the dictionary. and you’ll see a picture of Whitney and Lewis Halley. “She paused, looking down, “All this time, I thought it was my fault. I never understood what I could’ve done to make him hate me so much. Why they didn’t even seem to care. I even began considering that maybe I was just a whiner after all.” She let out a louder, contemptuous scoffed, “But no! They were getting _paid_ the whole time to look the other way while he tried to kill me! So yeah, the minute I learned the truth I jumped on the vengeance band wagon.” Her diatribe was cut suddenly by a harsh coughing fit.

“You need a minute?” Ellie asked with a twinge of empathy.

“I’m fine.” Lizzie lied, turning back around on the stairs and walking up without another word.

At last they came to a makeshift cell, and found to their surprise, the cell empty. “What the—” Lizzie began, when suddenly she was pushed from behind, falling to the ground , revealing a girl about the same age as them in a lose-fitting long sleeve black sweater and pencil skirt.

“Ellie Stone?” Vera asked.

“How—” Ellie began. “Come on,” Vera demanded dragging her by the wrist, “This way.” 

Lizzie scrambled to her feet, “David! David, it’s a set up!”

The trio were in the middle of negotiations when Lizzie’s words reached them, causing everything to shift. Within seconds both David and Marty on their feet, each of them pulling a gun while Waneta pulled out a box cutter in her pocket.

“Bringing a box cutter to a gunfight?” Marty panted, “You know better.”

“Neta, get behind me.” David ordered, “Was any of it true? About the terminations?”

“It was all true.” Marty answered, “They had a week to get their act together while you were dropping bodies across the eastern seaboard. You had to see this coming. Now, I meant what I said earlier. Sending Ellie up there was only plan B. We can turn this around…”

“We both know that’s not true!” David shouted.

“Yeah,” Marty said soberly, “I know.” Circumstances aside, they had _killed_ a dozen people, in horrible ways. There was no coming back from that. “So, what now? You shoot me?” Up until last week, he would have called David his best friend, and he would like to think David would say the same. Now they were literally holding firearms on each other. In spite of the danger he was presently in, Marty couldn’t help wondering, once again, how it had come to this.

“Are you really going to shoot _me_ ?” David challenged.

Back upstairs Vera and Ellie skitted to a stop at another flight of stairs, where Malcolm was pulling at a clear, glistening line, wincing in pain. He paused when he saw them. He thought he had heard her. “Ellie, what are you…” 

“Rescuing you.” Ellie replied, “Thought, it seems you might not need it.” Seeing him struggling with the line again, she walked that back. “Or maybe you do.”

“Yeah. No one told Vera here they’d boobied trapped the fire exit. He tried again to remove the fish hook, sending a white hot wave of pain through the afflicted area. Remembering she had the knife, she held it out ,asking, “Would this help?”

“Perfect.” Malcolm said as Vera took the knife and helped Malcolm cut through the wire. “Okay, I think I see where the rest of them are. Stay behind me, I’ll move them out of the way.”

Defusing the booby traps made the process excruciating slowly, Malcolm having to stop every few steps to hold back fishhooks, but surprisingly no one had caught up with them. Not even Lizzie, who had been right there

. Then a gunshot went off from downstairs.

Ellie yelped, jumping a little on the just, just slightly, but enough to bump into Malcolm and send both of them flying. Suddenly Malcolm felt the white hot sting of a fishhook going into his flesh again, just this time into his shoulder, and Ellie felt the same sting in her hand. Only Vera was spared, but she just missed the hook.

“Ellie, stay still.” Malcolm told her, “Don’t struggle, you could make it worst.” He knew that if he wanted to get to her, he had to free himself first. Vera took the knife and began to cut. It seemed to take forever, but she severed the wire, Malcolm taking the knife from her and deftly cutting Ellie free, hearing her let out an involuntary whimper. “I know, I know, it hurts, but I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He finally got her free, just as three figures appeared at the top of the stairs, two dark to make out who they were. They needed to speed this up. Malcolm risked holding back two stairs worth of fish hooks, just as a yelp came from up the stairs. Apparently one of their pursuers had got caught in their own booby trap. With that distraction, they made it to the door, when Malcolm saw something that made him put his arm up in front of the girl to stop their descent.

Attached to ceiling, tied up so anyone who didn’t know they were there was likely to miss them, were two paint cans.

“Someone’s seen _Home Alone_ one too many times.” Ellie breathed.

Malcolm surveyed the area, trying to find a way around the trap. If they wanted to get to the door, there was none. But surely the thirteen had to consider that they could need the door themselves at some point. “We’re going to have duck.” He told her, grabbing Ellie wrist, “ Grab Vera for me? On three. One, two….”

With that, the three ducked down, running as the cans fell, bursting through the door into the back ally. They were running out to the street when it happened. It was a matter of seconds, Ellie felt throat closing up. She collapsed to the ground, nearly taking Malcolm with her. Malcolm managed to stop his descent, gathering the teen in his arms.

“Ellie! Ellie, I need you to stay with me…”

At the same time all this was happening, Beatrice had found her way back to a certain scientist, and tentively knocking on the door. She knocked again, when the door was opened, revealing the man himself. “Myra, thank God.” Dr. Goodwin exclaimed, ushering her in, “Sorry, Beatrice.”

Beatrice walked in, her head bowed. “I’m ready.”

“Yes, about that.” Dr. Goodwin said, shutting the door, “There’s been a slight change in plans.” Seeing the look on her face he assured her, “We _will_ take care of the problem, but I need your help with something first. “He ushered her up the stairs, “Come, I’ll explain.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Don’t know if anyone’s interested, but just in case, the whole ‘Elizabeth Bathory was a horrible person but not nerssacarily a phycho killer’ theory, you can go Rejected Princesses, look under historical.  
> What do you think? Love it? Hate it? Think I’m a mad woman who needs to have her lap top taken away. Just comment below and let me know!


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